


Absolution

by Black_jay



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Colt is the best big brother, Falco is an angel, Hunger Games, M/M, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, This is gonna get lost in rarepair hell, a few seconds of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_jay/pseuds/Black_jay
Summary: Colt has to make a choice. It's not a hard one.Or: Colt takes it upon himself to get Falco and Gabi through the 100th Hunger Games- and he gains the unexpected help of a Career tribute.
Relationships: Background Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Gabi Braun/Falco Grice, Porco Galliard/Colt Grice
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	1. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Colt is my underrated KING so this is basically my love letter to him.
> 
> Does anyone even ship Porco and Colt? No? Well to bad because I'm writing a fic anyway.

“Red or blue?” 

Gabi scrutinizes each of his hands for a moment, tapping her chin quizzically. 

“Red!” She finally announces, much to Colt’s relief. Forty-five minutes of helping Gabi get ready was almost enough to make him look forward to the Reaping. Almost.

“Well, come on then,” Colt says through the bobby-pins sticking out of his mouth, patting the old, worn chair in front of him. Gabi gracelessly plops herself onto the seat and Colt begins to weave the red ribbons through her brown hair, taking a bobby-pin out of his mouth to secure it. 

Colt takes a moment to cough into his shoulder, making sure to not choke on the bobby-pins, and glances towards the mirror, noticing that Gabi is anxiously swinging her legs back and forth and biting her lip.

“Hey,” he says softly, pausing to put his hands on her shoulders. “It will be fine, none of our names are in there more than once, you know Reiner has us covered in the money department.”

“I know,” Gabi huffs, sinking lower into her chair. “I just don’t want to be picked.”

Colt sighed and resumed his work on her hair. “In a District like ours where almost everyone has their name in a dozen times, the chances of us getting picked are slim to none,” he reassures. “Besides, you can’t get picked, whose hair would I do then?” Colt asks, ruffling the shoulders of her dress.

Gabi snorts, batting his hands away. “Yeah, you do look like the perfect housewife right now.”

Colt examines himself in the mirror; she’s not wrong. The bobby pins, ink stains on his hands, and the apron smeared with flour really do sell the picture. “Shut up,” he says and knocks her on the ear playfully. “Anyone would be lucky to have me.”

As soon as Colt finishes her hair, Gabi bolts down the stairs to show Flaco and Reiner the new dress that she and Colt bought specially for the Reaping. Colt follows, shaking his head and collecting her shoes that she had forgotten and left sitting abandoned by the door. 

Despite his words to Gabi, a sick, anxious feeling has been sitting low in his gut since the night before, brought on every year by the reaping. The fact that this was the 100th Hunger Games only made it worse, who knows what horrors the Game Makers have thought up.

Reiner’s appraising voice rings out from the kitchen, complementing Gabi’s dress and interrupting Colt’s thoughts. The clean white walls pass Colt as he walks down the stairs, the carpet soft under his bare feet. He pads into the kitchen and sets Gabi’s shoes down at her feet, coming to lean against the fake marble countertop. 

“Do you like it?” Gabi asks a blushing Falco, whose face got impossibly redder as he furiously nodded. 

Reiner chuckles at his cousin and Falco’s reaction. “When is he going to finally come clean about liking her?” He murmurs to Colt, Gabi and Falco too wrapped up in their own conversation to hear. 

Colt can’t help but agree, Falco has been pining after Gabi for practically his whole life, and it's only gotten worse since they moved in with Reiner’s family in the Victor’s Village. 

“I don't know, but I do hope they work it out soon,” Colt shrugs, checking the timer on the oven and pulling on a pair of oven mitts. “It’s getting hard to watch.”

Colt pulls a loaf of bread out of the oven, the fresh smell immediately filling the air. He made the loaf as a treat to take everyone’s mind off the reaping. He was almost eighteen, so this would be his last Reaping, but this was Falco and Gabi’s first, so they were particularly anxious.

“Do we have any honey?” Gabi hounds Reiner before opening the pantry herself, deciding that Reiner was taking too long to get up. 

“I think there's some on the middle shelf,” Colt says while pulling a bread knife out of one of the drawers. “But we have to let the bread cool for a moment or else it will be all mushy.”

“Why don’t you and Falco go play outside,” Reiner suggests before Gabi can start to complain. She eyes him dubiously, seeing through the thin excuse, but Falco grabs her arm and starts pulling her outside.

“Come on, we can find worms or something in the garden!”

Colt scowls but Gabi immediately brightens, letting Falco drag her out the back door. 

“Don’t get your new clothes dirty!” Colt yells after them through a painful cough, shaking his head at the useless fight. He’d be surprised if Gabi’s red dress isn't brown by the time she comes back in. He sighs, grabbing the honey out of the pantry, almost dropping it on his way back to the counter. He hadn't noticed that his hands were quivering until now- and Reiner notices.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Reiner says, eyeing him with a concerned tilt to his head. “It’s very unlikely any of you will get chosen.”

“That's the same thing I told Gabi,” Colt scoffs, wiping his hands on his apron and coughing into his elbow. 

Reiner looks as if he were about to continue, but the low whine of the front door opening interrupts him. 

“Looks like Bertholdt’s home,” Colt comments unnecessarily as the man in question walks in, hanging his heavy, coal-smeared jacket on the coat hanger in the entryway. Bertholdt sighs but tiredly smiles as Reiner comes to fuss over him, running a hand through his black hair, sending a dusting of black dust and grime falling to the floor.

“Heyheyhey-“ Colt interrupts as Reiner grabs Bertholdt by the waist. “No coal dust on the walls.”

“Can’t even kiss my own husband in my own house,” Reiner jokes but allows Colt to pass him and take Bertholdt's blackened jacket into the washroom to keep it from painting the white walls grey. 

Colt sighs good-naturedly, he has to do _everything_ in this house, he swears. Guess that will happen in a house full of gay men with no wife to speak of, he thinks, leaning out of the back door and calling for Falco and Gabi to come back in.

“-they let us out early for the Reaping,” Bertholdt is explaining as Colt enters the kitchen again, reaching for the bread knife. Berthold chokes out a wheezing cough and Reiner rubs his back for him as he slides into the chair next to Bertholdt. Colt winces sympathetically. The Mines will do that to man, all that coal isn't much good for the lungs. Colt is lucky that he only had to spend five and a half years in mines, after Reiner won the Games he was kind enough to take Falco and him in at Gabi’s insistence and on account of being a “family friend”, despite all of them lacking a real “family” to speak of.

“I wish I could get you out of those Mines,” Reiner says softly.

Mine work is required for any man ages 18-35, unless they’re a Victor, like Reiner. Apparently, even being a Victor’s husband isn't enough to get you excused. 

Colt was too young when Reiner won to remember it, but he does know that he volunteered for Bertholdt, he’d heard enough old ladies cooing about how _romantic_ that is down at the shops enough times. Apparently, his aunt died shortly after, hence why he’s raising Gabi.

“Bertl!” Gabi exclaims as she runs through the open doorway and tosses herself onto Bertholdt’s lap, gushing how she beat up some boy at school that morning. Falco hangs back and grabs the hem of Colt’s shirt, shuffling his feet. Colt looks down at the boy, concerned, but Falco doesn't make eye contact, just stares at the floor, but Colt gets the feeling that he's not really seeing anything. Colt leaves him be for a moment, listening to the group's scattered chatter behind him, quickly cutting half of the loaf of bread into thick slices, slathering honey on the top of the still-warm bread with a knife. He taps Falco’s shin with his foot and hands two of the slices to him.

“Go give one to Gabi, I’m sure Bertholdt will appreciate the break.” Colt gestures to where Gabi is still talking Bertholdt’s ear off.

Falco gives him a weak but genuine smile before shoving one of the slices of bread into Gabi’s hand. Her eyes light up and she practically moans as she bites into it. 

“I _love_ honey,” she states for probably the fourth time today. “Why can’t we get it more often?”

“You know it’s expensive,” Reiner chides as Bertholdt hands her a napkin to clean the honey that has started to drip down her chin. “Besides, we shouldn’t be being greedy, anyway.” Gabi huffs but doesn't say anything else. 

Falco is still lurking silently by the table so Colt reaches out and ruffles Falco’s hair, making him giggle. Proud that he made Falco laugh, Colt lathers all but two of the rest of the slices in honey, spreading jam on the other two, remembering that Bertholdt doesn't like honey. He takes a honey one for himself, sticking it in his mouth as he sets the cutting board with the bread on the table, bundling the other half of the loaf in a cloth bag and storing it in the pantry for later. 

He takes the bread from his mouth and takes a bite. “I’m going to go get ready, we’ve got-” He checks the grandfather clock- “about fifty minutes until we need to be there.”

He’s met with a small chorus of acknowledgements and he slips the apron off and hangs it by the door, making his way up the stairs to his and Falco’s bedroom. Their bedroom, more like _his_ bedroom considering the amount of times Falco sleeps over in Gabi’s room, is sparse but clean, a step above luxurious compared to their old house. 

Colt finishes the bread but doesn't move. He stands there, taking it all in. There’s always a chance that a stroke of bad luck will hit him and this will be the last time he ever steps foot in here. 

Shaking his head and dismissing the intrusive thought, he pulls open the closet, mostly empty except for a couple of pairs of shoes on the floor and a few coat hangers holding his clothes. He doesn't need to debate on what to wear, he’s only got one (relatively) fancy pair of clothes, and even then, they’re no beauty. Nonetheless, he takes the hanger down and sets it on his bed, spreading out the clothes.

The closer it gets to the Reaping, the more nervous he is. He starts to regret eating the sugary honey as his stomach starts to feel sick with the faint feeling of butterflies. He quickly undresses and slips on the pants, smoothing them down before fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. After a couple failed attempts and a few wasted minutes, Colt manages to button up the shirt, leaving the top one undone so he doesn't feel choked. As he’s tidying up in the mirror, a quiet knock sounds from the other side of the door. 

“Falco, are you okay?” Colt asks concernedly, Falco looks a little pale. 

His lip wobbles. “Y-yeah, I’m just nervous,” he says, stepping farther into the room.

“Oh,” Colt murmurs, kneeling down to hug him. Falco wraps his arms around him and buries his face into his shoulder. Colt brings a hand up to cup the back of his head. “It’s going to be okay, it's normal to be this nervous before your first Reaping.”

“Yeah, but-” Falco’s breath hitches “-If I’m not chosen, it might be someone I know, or Gabi, or _you.”_

Of course Falco, selfless as he is worried about other people. Colt sighs, knowing he’s right. “... there’s always the chance of volunteers,” Colt says, injecting false optimism in his voice, gently pulling away from Falco so he can look him in the eyes. He looks doubtful. “Look, Falco,” Colt starts, staring straight into Falco’s whiskey-colored eyes, the same as his. “I won’t let _anything_ happen to you, alright?”

Falco nods weakly, diverting his eyes to the carpet under his feet. 

“Come on,” Colt encourages, standing up and ruffling Falco’s hair. “Let’s not keep the others waiting.”

━━┅━━━┅━━

“Woah…” Gabi trails. “There’s _a lot_ of people here.”

“Most of the District,” Colt confirms, ushering them towards the check-in station. “They're gonna prick your finger,” He warns them. “Don’t worry, it doesn't hurt,” He assures at Gabi's alarmed look. 

“Name,” The woman at the stand drones when they finally get to the front of the line.

Colt has the kids go before him, both wincing at the prick to their finger. As the needle goes into his finger for the 6th and last time in his life, his eyes seek out the stage, finding Reiner already standing at his spot next to Annie Leonhart as the only two current District 12 victors. 

Colt herds Gabi towards Bertholdt where he’s standing with the other adults and parents. He bends to hug Gabi.

“See you in a minute,” She says, releasing him.

Bertholdt smiles crookedly. “Yeah… See you in a minute.”

After showing Gabi the way towards the roped off area for the twelve-year-old girls with a prolonged goodbye, Colt leads Falco the gate for the twelve-year-old boys, keeping a hand in his the whole time as to not lose him to the crowd.

“Here you go,” Colt says, gesturing towards the gate. Falco stares at the gate, biting his lip. He takes a few steps towards it but pauses. Confused, Colt's about to ask if he's alright when Falco suddenly turns and runs back towards him, hugging him firmly around the waist.

“See you later,” Falco says, voice muffled by Colt clothes.

Startled, Colt stares at him for a moment before his gaze softens. He hugs him back as best he can. “Of course.”

Now, standing in a pen with the other seventeen-year-olds like sheep up for slaughter, he keeps his gaze firmly on the screen playing the same exact film they show every year. He tunes it out and stares off into space, trying his best to ignore the two _giant_ glass bowls sitting on the stage on their pedestals, hundreds of little folded paper slips gathered inside, two slips in each bowl that will announce the death of a child. Except, this time he's suddenly yanked back to the present when the screen changes after the usual propaganda. Instead of a black screen, there’s a video showing President Tyber sitting at a polished desk, hands clasped in front of him as he stares a little _too_ warmly at the camera with a smile that’s far from genuine. 

“Greetings, Citizens of Eldia, as I’m sure you're aware, we’re celebrating the 100th Hunger Games this year. This, of course, is the fourth Quarter Quell, and we plan to make it the grandest of all Hunger games yet.” He smiles while pulling a yellow box in front of him, and a low feeling of dread curls in Colt’s stomach as he pulls out a yellow envelope with a golden seal. The twist for this year’s Games.

“This year…” President Tyber begins, pausing dramatically. Colt curses him internally, wishing he’d just get on with it. “... there will be double the amount of tributes, two girls and two boys from each District.” 

Colt barely holds back a whine of despair that quickly turns into a cough as his tortured lungs object. Now there’s double the chance that he or one of the kids will be chosen. _Shit,_ that’s just about the worst thing they could’ve done. He wonders how Falco’s taking the news; hopefully, better than him.

“... but-” Fuck, what else can there be? “- to keep the tributes diverse, no volunteers will be allowed to replace the first girl and boy tributes chosen.”

Colt shifts on his feet. That's certainly not going to be a problem here in 12, there hasn't been a volunteer since Reiner. Speaking of Reiner, Colt darts his eyes to him on the side of the stage; he looks significantly more worried than he did a moment ago. 

President Tyber hums as he continues to read the letter. Colt might throw-up at this point. “It has been decided that due to the increase in tributes, two victors will be allowed.”

That makes Colt’s pause. It doesn't do anything to stop his growing anxiety, but it certainly doesn't add to it as he had expected something much worse. Two victors… that's unheard of. 

“That is all,” President Tyber concludes, setting the envelope down. “Happy Hunger Games.” The screen goes dark.

His parting line echoes around the courtyard like a bad omen, and Colt’s heart jumps to his throat as Hangi Zoë, the District 12 escort, prances onto the stage. Their ankles wobble in their ridiculous 6-inch heels, miraculously avoiding tripping over their skirt that trails behind them.

They look no less ridiculous as they did the previous years; they’re sporting a light blue suit-vest and bowtie over a frilly skirt/dress travesty that reminds him of the cotton candy Reiner brought home once. It drags against the ground, probably picking up a concoction of dirt and coal-dust. Wide, rectangular glasses are perched on the end of their nose, giving them the look of Colt’s 4th grade Eldian Sciences teacher. 

“Thank you, President Tyber,” Hangi croons, waving their fingers at the blank screen like he can hear them. “Alrighty,” they say as they reach the microphone. “It’s nice to see you all again, I’ve missed you.” 

The crowd stays silent. 

Hangi smiles forcefully, clearing their throat and pulling at their collar with a gloved finger. “Now,” they start, adjusting their skirt. “The time has come to select two-” she holds up two fingers “- _courageous_ young men and women for the _honor_ of representing District 12 in this year’s 100th annual Hunger Games!” They accent each word with a wave of her hand. 

Colt’s heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest and he goes dizzy with fear as Hangi contemplates the two bowls like she's choosing a new scarf to compliment her eyes and not picking four kids to send to their deaths. 

“Let's switch it up,” Hangi decides. “Gentlemen first!”

Colt grimaces to himself, feeling the brush of shoulders as the boy next to him shifts anxiously. 

Hangi trots over to the boy’s bowl and dips an elegant hand in. Sweat starts to drip down Colt’s brow. Hangi fishes a slip of paper out, clutching it in her buffed talons. He audibly swallows. Hangi parades back to the microphone, unfolding the paper and holding it out in front of her, squinting at it for a moment. Colt can’t breathe.

They open their mouth, pausing dramatically.

“ _Falco Grice!”_

Time seems to slow down and Colt feels his stomach drop. A loud scream rings out across the square from the girls section. He gasps but can’t seem to get any air into his lungs.

“Well, don’t be shy, come on up,” Hangi encourages after a moment of choked silence. 

He can’t see Falco at first, but a sea of people part and spit him out in the middle walkway. His eyes are wide and his face is pale, but he begins to walk stiffly towards the stage, flanked by two white-clad peacekeepers. 

“Falco,” Colt chokes out, pushing through the rows of people, stumbling out onto the walkway. “Falco!”

Falco turns to look at him, and he thinks he can see the pinprick of tears in his eyes, but he is ushered up the stairs by the peacekeepers, forcing him to look away. Before Colt can take another step, two peacekeepers grab him roughly by the shoulders and begin to drag him back to his place in line, despite his kicking feet.

“ _Volunteer_ ,” Colt whispers like a salvation under his breath. 

“Can’t volunteer for him, kid,” says the gruff voice of one of the peacekeepers, muffled by the helmet. They shove him back in line, and despite his weak knees, he forces them not to buckle. He stares at the stage where Falco now stands, not hearing anything. Hangi says something and Falco shakily responds. Colt’s eyes dart to Reiner- he has a pained expression on his face.

Colt isn't thinking as Hangi approaches the bowl again, picking out a name. Before she can even announce the second boy, Colt is already pushing his way forward. She calls out the second name but Colt doesn't recognize it, or care to, his promise to Falco is ringing in his ears.

“I volunteer!” Colt gasps, running into the walkway once again. “I volunteer as tribute!”

The square is silent for a moment, and Colt can hear his own heartbeat in his ears

“Well,” a flustered Hangi starts. “It looks like we’ve got ourselves a volunteer.”

Colt’s legs wobble as peacekeepers start to surround him, leading him to the stage. His hands tremble uncontrollably at his sides, but he forces his eyes to remain dry, knowing that he’s on national television and can’t look weaker than he already does in front of the cameras, in front of the people that will be trying to _kill_ him in a few days. He avoids Reiner’s eyes as he passes him, opting instead to stare straight in front of himself. 

“Colt,” Falco whimpers as he comes to stand next to him and Colt’s thin facade almost shatters. Falco looks terrified, but he puts on a brave face, biting his lip to hold back the tears.

“And what’s your name, Hunny?” Hangi asks, pushing the microphone under his nose.

“C-Colt Grice.” He curses himself for letting his voice break.

“Well, I’ll bet that Falco here is your brother, am I right?”

He nods dumbly.

He tunes out the next name-calling, not recognizing the black-haired girl who walks on stage as Hangi goes to pick another name. They said that there can be two Victors, so if he can protect Falco, it's possible for both of them to survive and- 

“I volunteer!”

Colt is abruptly yanked from his thoughts at the sound of a familiar voice. Reiner muffles a cry. 

He looks up with growing horror as Gabi, with a determined expression on her face, walks into the walkway. 

“ _Another_ volunteer,” Hangi gasps, hand to her chest. “How exciting!”

Colt gapes as she walks up the stairs and all the plans he’d been formulating in is head screech to a stop. _No. Nononono..._

Gabi introduces herself in the microphone when prompted, and Hangi gushes about her being related to a Victor, but Colt stares at his feet. Any plans he had about him and Falco surviving the games have gone out the window, now there's three of them but only two spots to survive. 

Colt breathes in deeply. He has a choice. He knows what he’s going to do.

The rest of the ceremony passes as if in a daze, he mindlessly goes through the motions of shaking hands with the other tributes, including the girl whose name he doesn't know. They’re taken off the stage soon enough, Falco and him shoved into one room and Gabi and the girl into the other. 

Colt slumps into the chair nearest to the door, hacking a cough into his elbow. It’s now that Falco starts to let the tears roll down his face and he sobs, clutching at Colt. 

“ _Why’d you volunteer_?” he chants like a mantra into his shirt. Colt hugs him tighter, burying his nose in his hair. 

“I promised I’d protect you, right?” Colt answers weakly, tears pricking at his eyes. He has no doubt that the whites are red. This is where family members are supposed to say their last goodbyes, but he and Falco don’t exactly have surviving relatives and Reiner and Bertholdt are no doubt with Gabi right now.

Neither of them speak much in the next dozen or so minutes, but Falco continues to cling to him like a life raft.

Eventually, the door creaks open, and Reiner walks in with heavy footsteps, hanging his head.

“I’m sorry about Gabi, If I had known she'd do that...” He trails off but Colt gets the message.

So he _had_ guessed Colt’s plan. 

Colt shakes his head. “What's done is done.”

They’re silent for a moment, but Colt gently pushes Falco away and abruptly stands.

“I promise,” Colt starts, voice shaky but full of resolve. “I _promise_ I will get her out of there.”

Reiner expression wavers.

“Just- just promise me you’ll take care of Falco, alright?” Colt says, lowering his voice so Falco doesn’t hear, forcing a tiny, sad smile onto his face.

Reiner bites his cheeks and his eyes tear up but he nods.

“Thank you,” Colt whispers, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Thank you.”

━━┅━━━┅━━

Colt finally snaps on the train ride to the Capitol. 

“Why’d you volunteer, Gabi, _why?”_ Colt asks desperately, crouched in front of her and hands on her shoulders.

“I couldn’t just let you guys go in alone!” she says, suddenly angry. “I can help!”

“Help? What's there to help? You're _twelve._ There can only be two winners, Gabi, and there's three of us,” He yells, trying to shake some sense into her. “Falco and I at least had a chance of making it back alive, that's why I volunteered! He’d have a better chance of living if I was there to protect him! But now that you're here…” he breaks off with a growl, standing up and turning away, trying to collect himself. He holds his head in his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes.

Suddenly, the sliding sound of the cabin door opening jolts him out of his thoughts and all the heads in the room turn to watch Hangi as they meekly peek through the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Colt releases a pent up sigh and drops his hands. “No, come in.” He didn't know his voice sounded so rough. Hangi eyes him for a moment. Colt knows he looks like a mess; eyes watery, cheeks blotched and pink, hair ruffled from running his hands through it a dozen times a minute, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

He glances towards the girl, Pieck she called herself, where she sits subdued on a blue couch against one of the windows, Falco on the other side of it, hugging his knees. Reiner stands against the wall, staring at the floor, and Leonhart is lounging in one of the armchairs, apparently not bugged at all about the charged atmosphere.

Hangi wobbles into the cabin, still in their ridiculous heels. 

Colt slumps into the loveseat behind him, deflating. 

“We will be at the Capitol by tomorrow’s evening,” Hangi explains, trotting to one of the cabinets and pulling out a bottle of expensive-looking wine. They look at us questioningly; Leonhart is the only one to raise a finger. Hangi pops off the cork and pours two glasses, nails tapping against the glass, keeping one for themself and handing the other one off to Leonhart, who downs half the glass in one gulp.

“Well then, we should be thinking up an image for every one of you that will get you sponsors,” They say, addressing the tributes before turning to the two mentors. Reiner grunts, coming to sit on Colt’s left on the only open seat left.

Colt kneads the soft fabric under his fingers, never having felt anything quite so smooth. The faint rumble of the train rolling across the tracks is oddly soothing for something that is carrying him away from his home for the first and final time. 

“Well, any ideas?” Hangi prompts after no one speaks for a few stretched out moments. 

“Does it really matter?” Pieck shrugs, we’re from 12, no ones gonna root for us.”

“Nonsense,” Hangi interjects. “Everyone loves an underdog story.”

Colt doesn't like sitting so close to Hangi, who has been the harbinger of death for as long as he can remember. He coughs.

“Gabi and Falco are young, so that immediately gets them points, and if Colt plays the ‘protective big brother’ card right people might start to route for them- especially after volunteering.” Reiner offers, sinking lower into his chair.

 _Won’t be hard to play the ‘protective big brother’,_ Colt thinks.

Hangi nods approvingly and Leonhart takes another disinterested sip of her wine. 

What about you, Pieck? Do you have any special skills?” Hangi asks.

Pieck shrugs. “I can use a knife I guess.”

“What about you Gabi?”

“I’m a pretty good shot,” she admits, shrugging. “Colt’s not bad either,” she adds as an afterthought. He grunts in confirmation.

All eyes turn to Falco, who wilts under the stares. “I- uh, I’m not especially good at anything useful.”

Leonhart sets her wine glass down with a _clink_. “He’s cute, that's as good a weapon as any.”

Falco flushes, but Hangi finishes her thought. “We’ve got a good dynamic to work with, people will eat up anything to do with romance-” their eyes flick between Falco and Gabi “- or siblingship. Good relationships are key-”

“Why are you helping us?” Colt interjects, causing Hangi to stop in the middle of their sentence.

“Huh?”

“I mean-” Colt gestures to the train around them. “Why do you care? You get paid the same whether we live or die.”

Hangi seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, but regains themself, sliding their leg off their knee and planting it on the ground.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually _enjoy_ spending time with children every year just to watch them die. Besides,” they sniff. “District 12 needs to win more so you look less like a joke.”

Colt sinks back into the cushions but doesn't say anything else. 

━━┅━━━┅━━

They watch the other Reapings that night, all four of them huddled on the couch in front of a huge, flat-screened television. Colt is no stranger to luxury after years of living in the Victor’s Village, but he’s never seen a television _this big._ It probably cost more than his whole old house.

Falco is curled up at his side, hands fisted in the silky pajamas they provided them. Gabi is pressed beside him and Pieck is next to her, leaning on the armrest like a cat.

The program starts with District 1, all four tributes looking predictably pampered and prepared. District 2 flashes by, and it looks almost as dull and lifeless as 12, despite being so wealthy. All of the tributes look hardened- they are training to be peacekeepers, after all- but one catches his eye. Colt doesn't catch his name, but he has blond hair styled in an undercut and when he’s called he walks calmly up onto the stage, staring flatly in front of him, whereas the others look excited to be chosen. 

District 3 comes and goes and the boy quickly flashes out of his mind. The rest of the tributes once they get to the non-career Districts look a combination of terrified, resigned, and shocked. There are two other twelve-year-olds in the pool of tributes, one from 5 and one from 7, and he doesn't want to think about how they’ll go out.

When they get to 12, he winces as, sure enough, their Reaping is a mess. They are definitely going to be picked-out as easy targets. Colt watches as he volunteers, sees his own dumbstruck, wide-eyed expression, but is pleased to see that he, at least, hadn't started crying on stage as he had feared. His memories of then are a little fuzzy. 

Pieck flips the television off as the commentators start analyzing each Reaping, plunging the room into darkness, the only light coming from the faint purple glow coming through the window of the far away Capital lights bleaching the night. 

None of them leave, they sit there in silence that would be comfortable if not for the guillotine blade hanging over their necks.

━━┅━━━┅━━

The loud chatter of the crowd assaults Colt’s ears the second the train doors open. He flanks Gabi and Falco protectively as they walk out, squinting against all of the unnaturally bright colors. 

They follow Hangi down the roped-off walkway, and Colts grits his teeth against the screeches of Capitol citizens all craning to get a better look at them. 

He scans the crowd, barely able to make out the other District’s tributes stepping off their own trains. The Capitol certainly had timed this meticulously. He sees the boy from 2 again, looking unconcerned, but his attention is quickly torn back to the truly _enormous_ building ahead of them. Colt knows that the towering, window-walled building must house the rooms, training center, and interview amphitheater, everything needed pre-Hunger Games.

Blocking out the screaming Capitol citizens, Colt takes a deep breath and follows the others into the building. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current chapter count is just an estimation, it may be subject to change.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	2. The Parade

The prep team is composed of three bubbly Capitol citizens, all equally flamboyant in their bright clothing and dyed hair and makeup packed on so hard he wonders if they can even breathe. Well, they certainly _can_ breathe judging by how they are _constantly_ chattering to each other like excited songbirds the entire time he waits for his stylist. 

After they pluck half the hair off of his body and just about burn his skin off with the amount of times they scrub him clean of the ‘wretched 12 dust’, as one of the women calls it, his stylist finally walks it. Surprisingly, she isn't nearly as show-offish as the prep team; she's dressed in a frilly pink dress and flats with normal colored hair and a normal amount of makeup (or at least normal by his standards, makeup isn't exactly readily available in 12).

“Hello,” she greets, shaking his hand. “I’m Historia.” Her voice is high, but it doesn't grate on his ears like the prep team had. She walks in a slow circle around him. “Do you have any preferences for your costume?”

He blinks, he hadn't expected her to care about his opinion. “Not really…. Just don't cover me in coal dust and make me go out there naked like last year’s tributes.”

She laughs, a kind sound. “Don’t worry, I wasn't planning on it, that was a _travesty._ Last year’s stylist was a disgrace. _”_ She comes to stand before him, studying him for a moment before lightly grabbing his chin with delicate fingers and tilting his head up.

“Hmm, yes. We want to show power in these costumes,” she says, releasing his chin and taking a step back. “Your volunteering has got a lot of eyes on you, it's not every day we get volunteers from 12, much less two.”

She observes him in silence for a few more seconds before she leaves and sticks the prep team on him again, but not without whispering a few words to them at the door that makes them squeal in excitement. 

The buzz around him again, combing out his hair for the third time and holding open his eyelids so they can peer uncomfortably into his eyes.

“Close your eyes dear,” one of them says before brushing eyeshadow over his eyelids once they've closed.

“Lift your hand for me, honey,” says another one, painting a clear gloss over his newly-filed nails. 

Colt tries not to wince as they use a white eyeliner pencil on his tear line, millimeters away from poking him in the eye. They line his eyes with silver, flawlessly brushing them out to wings on the ends.

“He’s so skinny,” one of them comments like he's not standing right there, and Colt flinches as he touches a hand to his ribs. One of the women slaps his hand away.

“That's, like, _so_ insensitive. He’s from 12, of course he is!” Colt decides not to comment on the connotations of that. 

His feet start to hurt from standing in one place for so long. After what seems like an eternity, they finally finish, summoning Historia back into the room, who has a sleek, black _thing_ draped over her arm.

She helps him put it on, zipping up the frankly unnecessary amount of zippers on it. Once his arms are in he stretches them, the shiny material wrinkling at the joints. Historia places him in front of a mirror: he looks kind of ridiculous. His hair is styled in the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-like-this look, his face is completely smooth with the amount of makeup they put on him, and his eyes are rimmed with silver which is framed with black so it matches the rest of his outfit. 

The outfit itself resembles some sort of armor, kind of like peacekeeper uniforms just much less bulky and more form-fitting. Thick black boots are strapped onto his feet, leaving him wondering why the prep team insisted on doing his toenails if no one is going to see them.

“And for the final touch,” Historia begins so Colt turns to face her, finding her holding up a long, black and red cape.

Oh come on.

“Isn't that a little… over the top?”

She shoots him a look that says: _yeah, duh._ “This is the Capitol we’re talking about, over the top is their middle name.”

He shrugs uncertainly. “Alright…”

She beams and he lets her attach it to her shoulders on small, discrete hooks he hadn't noticed before. The cape falls just short of the floor, it would definitely touch it if he were to so much as slouch. 

She leads him out of the room and the heels of his boots click loudly against the white tile floor with every step. Pieck is already in the common room when they get there, dressed in the same black suit as him, with the same black and red cape pooling on the chair behind her as she sits. 

“You guys wait here, I’m going to go check on the other two.” Historia takes her hand off his back, heading back through the doorway. “Ymir better not have messed it up,” she mutters as she leaves.

He hesitantly sits on the edge of the couch across from Pieck, struggling to find a comfortable way to sit with the cape. He tries to take a deep breath but it catches, causing him to hack a cough into his elbow. Pieck sends him a sympathetic look.

After a few minutes of borderline awkward silence, Falco and Gabi finally enter the room, followed by Historia and a tall woman in a black suit with a short, choppy undercut and a multitude of piercings adorning her ears and face. Historia claps her hands as she sees them all together.

“It works so well, the costumes complement each other perfectly.”

“What did I tell ya, babe?” the brown-haired woman says, nosing into Historias hair. She just giggles.

He studies Falco and Gabi’s costumes, they're both a bright blood red, but they shimmer in the light, resembling flames. Gabi’s is an ankle-length dress and Falco’s looks more like a regular suit, less like armor than his and Pieck’s. They do lack the capes, however. 

Colt,” Gabi starts, walking up to him almost shyly. “Can you put these in my hair again?” She shoves something into his hand and he recognizes them as the ribbons she wore to the Reaping yesterday. God, that only yesterday? These past couple days felt like the longest of his life. 

“Of course,” He says, gesturing for her to turn around.

The other woman looks like she's going to object, but Historia interjects.

“It’s okay Ymir, the ribbons match anyway.” The woman- Ymir, reluctantly snaps her mouth shut.

Grateful for Historia, he begins to weave the ribbons into her hair, careful not to mess up the probably dozens of minutes her own prep team made her sit through. By the time he’s finished, it's time to go to the stables. 

“Oh!” Historia exclaims right before we open the door to leave. “I almost forgot.” She turns and runs out of the room. They wait for her, bemused. In less than a minute, she jogs back in, four red and circular wire-looking things hanging off her thin arms. “Here you go, my princess,” she jokes, kneeling before Gabi, placing it on her head like a crown. Gabi looks unimpressed, but that doesn't stop Historia putting one on Falco’s head, then Pieck’s, and then finally, Colt’s. “There,” she says, stepping back to take us all in. “Perfect.” Ymir nods in approval. 

“Come come,” Historia ushers, “you don’t want to be late.” She directs the four of them down the red-carpeted hall and towards a golden elevator. “Remember, keep your chin up,” she reminds them as the elevator door closes.

It’s silent as it zips down the rails, spitting them out in the stable area, underneath the colosseum that the Tribute Parade will take place in. Reiner and Leonhart- or Annie he guesses he can call her now, are already waiting by the chariot. It’s pulled by two sleek black horses who are gently nickering to each other as Annie feeds them sugar cubes. The chariot itself is a combination of black and silver, double the width than they usually are, presumably so it can fit all four of them. He had half expected them to split each district up into two chariots, but they must have decided it would be better to put them all in one, he supposes.

“You're a bit early,” Reiner comments, checking the giant clock on the far wall. “That’s good, we were almost late my year.” Colt looks around, he's right. Only a few other groups of tributes are moseying around their chariots. 

“Yeah, cuz’ they had to stop to roll you around in coal dust,” Gabi says, smirking. “Bertholdt told me all about that.” He waves her off, looking faintly embarrassed.

“At least you guys have good costumes,” Reiner says, gesturing at the four of us, ignoring Gabi’s jibe. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Gabi huffs.

“You're just jealous that you don’t have a cape,” Falco says.

“I’m not jealous!”

Falco doesn't look like he believes her.

Colt looks up when he hears another elevator door opening from across the room. Pieck follows his line of sight, frowning.

“District 2, they’ll be trouble,” she says, expression darkening.

Annie nods, leaning against their chariot with some pink alcoholic drink in her hand. “2 has the biggest number of wins under their belt by far because most of their children are training to be peacekeepers,” she explains without looking back. 

Their costumes are shiny and white, resembling a more regal version of peacekeeper armor. They too, have capes flowing behind them, except theirs is white and lined with feathers. Their stylists obviously went for the _Gods come down to Earth_ look.

“We’re basically a dark version of them.” Pieck notices. She’s not wrong, 2 gives the impression of angels while they look like bloody warriors. He decides not to think about the connotations of that.

“They totally copied us,” Gabi huffs, crossing her arms. 

All four of them look more than capable of slitting his throat and he can't see a single obvious weakness between them. A sickening feeling curls into his gut at the sight of the real predators of the Arena. Although, he does notice that they don’t seem to have the same comradeship that the four of them have; they all stand apart from each other, and even from the other side of the room he can sense the air of distrust around them. Their- wait- four mentors?

“Why do they have four mentors?” he turns, asking Annie.

“Each district is allowed four mentors this year, one for each person, we just don’t have four.”

“That seems unfair,” Pieck notes.

“They gave us the option of having two from other Districts come and fill the spaces but I declined,” she responds blankly. 

“What, why?” Colt asks, confused about why she would turn down extra help. 

She turns to him, deadpan. “They would be a nuisance, they think us incapable.”

“Oh...” He turns back towards them; District 1 has arrived now too, dressed in obnoxiously pink furs. One of 2’s mentors is a short, angry-looking man who is currently yelling at one of the tributes who looks a bit like a trapped deer. The other male mentor is a tall, broad man with neatly combed hair who is having a much more civil conversation with one of the female tributes. 

He recognizes the blond tribute from before lingering silently by their chariot, golden eye-liner highlighting his eyes, picking at his nails. Suddenly, as if he feels his gaze on him, he looks up, meeting his eyes. Colt jumps and looks away immediately, embarrassed that he got caught staring. 

Pieck sees him too. “Why is that career staring at you?” she whispers, leaning in close

“He’s still looking at me?” Colt hisses, voice going a little high.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me you've already made enemies.”

“I didn't! At least, not that I know of,” he whispers loudly. “Is he still looking?”

“No, he just looked away. I think he knew we were talking about him though.”

Colt groans to himself. “Great, he probably wants to kill me.”

“Everyone wants to kill everyone here,” Pieck responds as if that were a comfort. “Besides, he’s a career, he's probably looking forward to it.”

“That really doesn't make me feel any better.”

She shrugs. “It's true.” 

He snorts out a laugh, a little surprised, but the humor quickly fades as he looks around the room at the other tributes, all of whom he knows have to die. He tries to watch them as they file in to find out who's strong and who’s weak, but he’s just too _tired_ , he wants to get this parade over with. He glances at Pieck, lips twitching downward. She’s going to have to die too. He just hopes it doesn't have to be him who kills her. She seems to guess what he’s thinking and her lips form a small, sad smile but her eyes are soft. 

The far away _kong_ of a bell signals them to get into their chariots, and, reluctantly, he climbs in, reaching a hand down to help the others up. As he’s pulling Falco up, he notices how pale he’s become, almost unnoticeable under all his makeup. Truth be told, Colt feels like he’s about to sweat off all his makeup too, so he’s not alone. 

“Hey,” Colt says quietly under the ruckus of the other tributes climbing into their chariots and the _clop_ of hooves as District 1 departs. “Just smile, that's all you have to do.”

Falco nods and, after a moment of consideration, grabs Colt’s hand in his. Pieck notices and smiles, grabbing Gabi’s hand. She looks at Pieck in surprise but doesn't pull away. 

Colt, bounces on his toes, growing more anxious by the second. 

“Remember, smile for the camera,” Reiner says, resting his elbows on the top of the chariot. “I don’t think any of you are going for the _I’m so badass I don’t care_ vibe, so best make them like you. Especially you two,” he says, gesturing to Falco and Gabi. “No one’s going to bet on twelve-year-olds winning, so you must look capable _and_ cute enough to gain their attention- especially with double the larger number of tributes making it harder to stand out.”

Reiners' words remind him of what exactly this is to the Capitol: a game. His lips twitch. He _hates_ President Tyber, he _hates_ the Capitol, he _hates_ the Careers who are without a doubt _looking forward_ to the Games. All this parading them around in costumes is just _fun_ for them, so they can watch them slaughter each other like some sort of sick reality-TV show.

Suddenly, the jerk of the chariot pulls him out of his thoughts. He glances back at Annie and Reiner, the former giving him a small nod. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Falco grab Gabi’s hand. 

Colt swallows as they follow District 11’s chariot up the ramp, the crowd’s cheers echoing down the dark tunnel. He squints as they emerge from the black tunnel and into the sunlight, the bright colors of thousands of Capitol citizens in the stands assaulting his eyes. Flowers and jewelry rain down from the stands and onto the stones around the tributes, few managing to reach the actual chariots- not that that stops them from trying. 

Surprisingly, the crowd goes louder when they see them. Gathering himself, Colt smiles as brightly as he can (which isn't very bright). He sees Pieck flash the crowd a lazy smile- which they just eat up. Falco clenches onto his hand to the point that it hurts but Colt grips him just as tightly back. 

Colt glances at the big screens above the stands that are showing close-ups of the chariots. It’s currently focused on them and even he has to admit that they have one of the most impressive costumes here, maybe only 2 can rival them (District 6 certainly beats them all in the _flash_ -factor as they are quite ridiculously covered in sequins). His and Pieck’s black outfits shine red in the light like smoldering coals. Between them, Falco and Gabi’s blood-red costumes sparkle with flecks of navy and yellow, giving the impression of a crackling fire. With their capes flowing behind them and the thorny crowns on their heads, Colt and Pieck look like dark guardians with Falco and Gabi as their charges. Still a little over the top if you ask him.

Slightly emboldened by the crowd’s reactions, he forces a bigger grin, waving to his left. Suddenly, a rose is thrown at him and he snatches it out of the air on reflex. He blinks as the crowd erupts, surprised that he even managed to catch it. _Fuck it._ He smiles in the general direction that the rose came from and he’s pretty sure he sees a lady swoon. 

It’s ridiculous how much the Capitol makes a game out of this.

“Christ, they love us,” Peick mutters, Colt barely able to hear her over the roar of the crowd. 

Gabi looks like she’s in her natural habitat, grinning and waving, and he thinks he can hear the crowd collectively coo at her. Falco is a little more nervous and Colt can see his hands trembling, but he valiantly manages a shaky smile. 

He looks back up to the screen; it flashes to District 7, dressed as pine trees like every year, to District 4, their costumes an intricate weaving of golden nets that don't leave much to the imagination, and settling on District 2. They seem to glow in the light as they wave to the crowd- well, everyone except for the blond man (who he _really_ needs to learn the name of), who stands aloofly on the far right of his chariot, staring straight ahead with a distinctly smug expression, not entertaining the Capitol. That is until he catches a necklace out of the air and smirks as he slips it over his head, the resounding cheer of the crowd echoing back to Colt. Colt can already tell that he’s going to be a problem.

As Colt stands poised the crowd's cheers grow so loud that he wants to slap his hands over his ears. He doesn't, though, this is one of the few looks any potential sponsors will get of him before the Arena, so he can’t afford to show any weakness. 

Finally, the Chariots stop in a semi-circle under a tall podium that President Tyber comes to stand on, the loud music that Colt hadn't even noticed stopping abruptly. Tyber greets and thanks them in his smooth voice, and the screen focuses on him before going back to flipping through the tributes, one at a time this time. The camera lingers on the crowd’s favorite tributes for slightly longer, almost every career getting extra screen-time, as well as a few other tributes, including an _incredibly_ tall woman from 5 standing next to one of the other two 12-year-olds and a cat-like girl from 9. He’s surprised to find that he is one of them, the camera stays on him for a few moments (and he is proud to see that he still looks relatively composed compared to the turmoil inside him), before going through Faco and Gabi and finishing on Pieck, who also gets a few extra seconds when she flashes the camera a sly smile. 

Colt tunes out much of Tyber’s speech and he feels the eyes of thousands of people at his back for the eternity it takes for him to finish. Eventually, though, he concludes and steps off the podium and Colt breathes a sigh of relief. The chariots take one last lap around the loop before going back down the tunnel and into the stables, the sky already growing dark. 

Two stable workers grab the horses by the reins as they come to a stop and Colt jumps down the second he can, swaying a little as he gets used to flat, unmoving ground again. Along with Reiner and Annie, Hangi is there to greet them, tottering on a new pair of heels, gushing about _how good they looked_ and _how the audience loves them._

The elevator that takes the tributes up to the living quarters is large but probably wouldn't be able to hold more than twelve people at a time, so they hang back as the other tributes and mentors go up two Districts at a time. It’s almost a relief to know that not everything in the Capitol works seamlessly. 

Colt almost trips on his own cape as he shuffles his feet so Pieck helps unhook it. He returns the favor but he struggles to unclip the cape from her shoulders as his hands haven't stopped trembling yet. After a long minute of struggling with the hooks, he finally undoes it and hands it to her. He drapes his cape over his arm like a suit jacket, rolling his shoulders in relief when he realizes just how heavy it was.

Eventually, Hangi herds them towards the elevator, muttering something about needing a drink, and Colt looks at the other occupants to find that they’re stuck with District 2. 

_What did he do to deserve this?_

“...shouldn't be so aloof, Porco,” One of their female mentors is saying to the blond man- Porco, but she goes quiet as they enter the elevator. Colt is squished next ‘Porco’ or whatever his name is and he tenses, but not as tense, apparently, as Reiner. 

“Hello Mikasa,” Reiner greets curtly, barely keeping the nervousness out of his tone as he punches in their floor numbers.

“Reiner,” the female mentor says coolly, nodding once and looking away. 

Colt’s eyes dart between them, confused at the exchange.

Porco seems to notice this. “Mikasa’s brother was in his Games,” he says, leaning over slightly, whispering despite the fact that they’re in a cramped elevator and everyone is going to hear anyway.

Colt barely refrains from jumping at his voice, surprised that he even acknowledged his presence. He looks at him before his eyes return to Mikasa and Reiner. Mikasa turns back to glare at them, brushing her short hair out of her eyes. 

Colt suddenly remembers where he knew the name Mikasa; she made big news a few years ago because she the was the third Victor in her family, and now that he’s looking for it, he can see the resemblance between her and the black-haired male mentor, Levi Ackerman if he’s remembering correctly. Levi’s uncle remained quite infamous even years after his own games, even earning the nickname ‘The Ripper’ in the Capitol. It's a little dramatic for Colt’s taste. 

Colt hears a huff and looks down to see Gabi standing in front of Porco with crossed arms, jutting her hip out. He raises an eyebrow questionably as she sizes him up for a long moment.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” She declares like a challenge, glaring at him. 

Porco snorts as Colt gapes. Levi chuckles but the other District 2 tributes curl their lips at her in disgust. 

“How dare you-” one of the other tributes hisses, but Porco interjects.

“No no Marlowe, that's good.” He says, waving a dismissing hand in Marlowe’s direction and his mouth snaps shut. “I like your confidence, Gabi.”

Gabi blinks, apparently surprised that he knows her name- Colt is too, to be honest. She seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, obviously expecting a different response. The ding of the elevator signaling that they’re at their floor interrupts anything she might've responded with. Colt quickly pulls her out of the elevator, trying to avoid any further confrontation. 

“See you later,” Porco calls after them and Colt glares at the doors after they close. 

“He’s a career,” Pieck starts, pulling Colt’s attention from the elevator doors. “It’s basically his job to antagonize us.”

“Weird way to antagonize,” Colt mutters, shaking his head and turning down the hall. The mentor’s rooms are above them, so it’s just the four of them now. He pulls Gabi’s arm, hard. 

“You can’t say that,” he chastises. “We don’t want a target on our backs, okay?”

She glares at her feet and yanks her arm back but doesn't say anything.

Colt sighs and heads down the hall until he sees the door with his name on it. He’ll let the others find their own, he needs to be alone right now. 

He immediately heads towards the sink and begins scrubbing the makeup off his face. The black and silver drip down his cheeks, making him look like some sort of crying ghost. He snorts humorlessly to himself- it's not far from the truth.

Two ruined towels later, the makeup is off his face, but he can’t do anything about his nails. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect way it sits. His hand comes away sticky with the hair product and he scrunches his nose, washing his hands again.

Dinner is a solemn affair, at least on his part. Reiner, Annie, Hangi, and the two prep teams join them for dinner, much to Gabi’s obvious despair. As expected, the prep teams and Hangi chatter their way through dinner, and Reiner joins in a polite amount of times, despite no one else making an effort. 

Colt picks at his food and looks over to see Falco doing the same. Colt is allowed to pick at his food- Falco isn't.

“You should eat,” he tells him, taking a bite of his own much-to-garlicky mashed potatoes for effect. 

“I’m not really that hungry,” Falco says, sinking deeper into his chair. 

“You need to eat as much as you can before the games,” he reminds, which brings the already low mood lower. Colt ignores that he isn't following his own advice. 

“I’m going to bed,” Pieck announces, standing up with a screech of her chair. Reiner pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. 

“Training starts tomorrow at eight-thirty,” he reminds, setting his fork down. Pieck nods and retreats out the door. She must have opened the floodgates because soon after Gabi is asking to be excused and then Falco is and then Colt is. Annie stands up at the same time as him, carrying her plate into the kitchen. Colt has a brief moment of guilt about leaving Reiner to the wolves that are Hangi and the prep teams, but his yearning for a soft bed quickly out rules any regrets he might have.

Going back to his overly-large room, he finds the most basic pajamas possible in the _extensive_ closet and pulls them on. 

Under the thick blankets of the bed, Colt feels like he _should_ be missing something, but he isn't. Falco, the only blood-family left his here, and so is Gabi and Reiner. Bertholdt is back home, probably coming back to his empty home from the mines around now, but he doesn't _miss_ him, so to speak. He is, however, hit with a sharp pain in his chest when he imagines the rooms on the top floor of the house staying empty after the Games, of only Reiner coming back on the train.

That _can’t_ happen. It’s his fault that Gabi’s even in this mess to begin with (well, she probably volunteered because she wanted to help Falco, but that’s beside the point), Gabi can’t die on account of him. 

He sniffs, suddenly finding that his eyes are wet. 

After an hour of tossing and turning he reluctantly slips out of bed, accepting that sleep just isn't going to come easy. 

He pads to the window, pulling the comforter off the bed to wrap around his shoulders. He pulls open the thick red curtains to find bars behind the windows. Of course. Nonetheless, He pops the window open and a rush of cold, _clean_ night air hits him. It doesn't have the ever-present trace of coal dust that he’s so used to and he takes this moment to fill his lungs, not coughing for once.

The view of the Capitol is interrupted by the thick black bars but, even then, he admits, begrudgingly, that the view is _spectacular._ Each building is lit with bright neon lights and even in the nighttime hours, colorful people and cars buzz down the streets and sidewalks, blissfully going about their lives, not about to be put in a pit and forced to fight to the death. 

He stays by the window until the morning hours, pulling an armchair up to curl up on, and he must have fallen asleep at some point because when he opens his eyes again, orange light is spilling onto the streets outside as the sun rises. 

He yawns, the few hours of sleep not doing much for his exhaustion. Eventually working up the energy to move, Colt turns to find that new training clothes are sitting folded on his bed.

… Okay. He pointedly decides not to think about how someone was in there while he was asleep.

He messes around with all the buttons and soaps in the shower until he's run out of excuses to waste even more water, and reluctantly tugs on the training uniform; a form-fitting red, black, and grey thing with a zipper at the collar and tight black pants and boots. He’s the first in the kitchen area except for Annie (whom he suspects doesn't actually sleep), but the others trickle in slowly, Pieck looking dead on her feet until she gets her dose of coffee, a luxury item back in 12.

Colt smooths down his hair anxiously as they wait for the elevator to bring them down to the training area- apparently everything Hunger Games related is housed in this one building, except for the actual Arena.

“Remember, don’t make yourselves stand out.” Reiner reminds them all before grabbing Colt’s arm and pulling him aside. “Gabi and Falco will be seen as weaknesses to the other tributes, so be ready for that.” 

Colt nods, swallowing loudly. He knew that already, of course, but to hear him say it…

A brief, considering look comes over Reiner’s face, but it's not an optimistic one. “Even though I said don’t make yourselves stand out… It might not be a bad idea to show off a little, if you can, to tell them you're not someone to trifle with- they might be more reluctant to go after Gabi and Falco that way.”

“You definitely need a different strategy than if you only had yourself to worry about,” Annie pipes up from down the hall. Does that woman hear _everything?_

Colt can’t think of anything he can really _show-off._ He can shoot a gun pretty well, but the chance of one of those being in the games is next to nothing. His uncle _had_ taught him to be proficient with a spear before he was killed, but that was a long time ago.

As if he could read his mind, Reiner snaps his fingers a few times before remembering. “Spears, right? Great weapon, tons of those in the games.”

Colt bites his cheek, shrugging. “I haven't practiced in years, I doubt I remember how to use them.”

“It could be like riding a bike, you never know.”

Before Colt could remind him that he doesn't know _how_ to ride a bike, the elevator dings and they are forced to cut their conversation short. 

The elevator spits Reiner and Annie out a floor above the training center, where they will apparently be observing them along with the other mentors. Just what Colt needed- more pressure. 

They join the other tributes in a loose circle around one of the trainers, and Colt can’t help but notice that, for all of Gabi’s bravo, she and Falco bunch a little closer to him. This time they’re one of the last ones here, and they linger near the back of the group- more of a crowd really, with all 48 tributes.

The trainer makes sure to remind them, several times at that, that there’s no fighting between tributes allowed. Colt wonders if that’s been a problem in previous years. 

She tells them to try out the survival stations too, not just the weapon ones. One of the tributes scoff at that, and he looks over; it's unsurprisingly one of the careers. Not Porco though, he looks to be listening to the trainer intently. 

Colt sweeps his gaze around the room; there are racks with swords, knives, axes, spears, and pretty much any weapon imaginable. There’s a dozen training dummies lined up against one of the walls, and the opposite wall houses all of the survival stations; kindling, fishing, edible plants, rope climbing, and so on. 

As soon as the trainer dismisses them, he makes a beeline for the fire-starting station, wanting to claim it before another tribute does. Unsurprisingly, the majority of the tributes head towards the weapons, it’s mostly just the outer Districts that go to the survival stations like himself. Pieck, Gabi, and Falco join him too, but he can see Pieck eyeing the other tributes. He wonders if she’ll join their alliance or not. 

Colt sighs, trying to ignore the other tributes, knowing that most of them will be dead within the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like not much happened this chapter, but I promise I'll try to get them into the games the chapter after next because I'm pretty sure that's what we're all looking forward to, right?


	3. The Interviews

Colt flinches as the axe hits home with a dull _thud._ He glances up- the axe is embedded in the training dummy’s head. He watches the stuffing slowly fall from where it got impaled by a girl from District 7. Not far to her right, the ashy-blonde girl from 9 palms a sickle, grinning.

His eyes dart to the Career tributes, all from 1, 2, and 4, most of them bunched in a loose group and throwing weapons and posturing to intimidate the rest of them. A few of the smarter ones have gravitated towards the survival stations, but most are jumping around the gauntlet or showing off on the rope course. The ones outside of the pack might be the most dangerous because they have the chance of going lone wolf, which would make them unpredictable.

Turning back to his work, he rubs his hands and rolls a stick between them, the kindling catching fire with a spark. He, of course, already knew how to start a fire- enough cold nights will teach that to a man-, but figured there was no harm in brushing up on it and trying out different types of wood.

He coughs, grimacing when some of the smoke blows into his face.

“Ugh.”

A frustrated groan from Gabi distracts Colt from his mini fire, and he looks up to see her rabbit trap- or what’s supposed to be a rabbit trap- sitting as a pile of rope and sticks in front of her. 

“No, you need to loop it like this,” Falco instructs, fixing the trap. “See?” He puts a hand in the loop and tugs at the edge. The trap immediately snaps around his wrist. 

“Oh.” Gabi tries again, and with a couple of pointers from Falco, is successful.

Colt smothers his fire with the available fire blanket and eyes the glass wall above them. The mentors stand behind the glass, some watching the tributes, some chatting with drinks in their hands.

He spots Annie having a low conversation with Mikasa in the corner of the room and Reiner traipsing about like he’s not exactly sure what to do.

Colt’s eyes keep drifting back to the spears, examining the wide variety of different metals and tips used. One of the male tributes from 1 takes the biggest one out of the rack and swings it around a bit. It’s obvious he doesn't know what he’s doing. He attracts the eyes of the other Careers and they watch as he throws the spear towards one of the dummies. He misses completely, the spear sailing past its shoulder before crashing against the wall.

The other Careers’ laughter rings out and they look at him like he’s already dead.

Two of the tributes from 8 are receiving lessons from an instructor at the shelter making station and beside them at the other two twelve-year-olds are huddled at the knot-tying station. He turns away quickly, not wanting to look at them. 

The time in the training center before lunch passes almost unbearably slowly, and he keeps a careful eye on Falco and Gabi as they move to the edible plant station. 

Finally, the lunch buzzer rings and the tributes migrate to the cafeteria.

He slides into one of the empty tables beside Pieck with his tray, Falco and Gabi sitting across from him. He picks at his food, sighing. He doesn't know _why_ he expected it to be bad, they are in the Capitol after all, but he did, and now he’s almost mad that it tastes good.

A man with a giant camera on his shoulder drifts around the cafeteria, catching the groups on film. Colt barely refrains from glaring when he turns the lens towards them.

Colt watches the other tributes; the extra-big Career pack has crowded around a table, talking loud enough to fill the entire room. They’re puffing their chests out and laughing somewhat forcefully. He doesn't know why you’d want to be in an alliance where you have to watch your back every second of the day lest you get betrayed, but he’s not a Career, so what does he know? 

He does notice, however, that with so many tributes, a few of the 1, 2, and 4 tributes have been exiled from the pack, or maybe they left by themselves, either way, that's dangerous- they might decide to form an alliance themselves. He also notices with a twitch of his eyebrow the dirty-blond girl from 9 in the group, sidled up to Marlowe, the guy from 2. He wonders if they’ll actually let her into the alliance or if they’re just humoring her. 

“Um…” a voice starts, and he looks over to see the other two twelve-year-olds standing awkwardly at the end of the table, looking sheepish. “... can we sit here?”

Colt counts the other tables, there's only ten, and he wonders if that was purposeful so the Districts had to intermingle to make drama early on. He has no doubt that they’re the least intimidating group here.

“Yeah, that's fine,” he says, turning back to his tray. It’s really _not_ fine, he doesn't need to start feeling bad for these kids, but what is he supposed to do, send them off to sit with the Careers?

He hears them sit on the other end of the table and a quick glance to his side proves that the boy is sitting so far away from them that he’s almost falling out of his seat. The girl, however, seems comfortable to eat without looking at any of them. 

“Hello,” Gabi starts, leaning over Falco, erasing any chance the two kids had at a quiet lunch. “What’s your guys’ names?”

“I-I’m Udo,” the boy stutters, and he points at the blonde girl. “That’s Zofia.”

Gabi starts blabbering to them about- well, something, he's not really sure. What he is sure about is that Gabi better not make friends with them because that will make their inevitable deaths that much harder.

Suddenly, he’s jerked from his thoughts when another tray slams itself down onto the table in the wide space between Falco and Zofia. He watches in thinly-veiled shock as the District 2 tribute- Porco if he remembers correctly, settles himself down in the seat like there's nothing weird about what he's doing.

He takes one look at Colt’s face and shrugs. “What? It’s not like I’m going to sit with them,” he says, gesturing back at the Careers who are watching him in bemusement or, in some cases, disgust.

Colt watches as he tears into his bread before shooting a look at Falco who looks just as nervous as he feels. He turns to Pieck who just shrugs and goes back to her food.

… Alright then.

━━┅━━━┅━━

The second day of training passes largely the same, and soon it’s the third and final day of training, only a day standing between him and the Area.

Colt blinks awake to the morning light and he has a moment of blissful ignorance, not remembering where he is, but then reality hits him once again and the anxious feeling that's lingered since the Reaping settles back in his stomach.

He cracks his back as he steps out of bed, quickly getting ready and grabbing breakfast before joining the others in the elevator to go down to the training center. He still hadn’t done anything to “show off” to the other tributes, but he doubts he’s flying under their radar. He’s seen a few of the stronger ones eyeing them like easy targets. 

“You have your private audience with the Gamemakers and the richer sponsors today,” Reiner reminds them in the elevator.

Colt barely refrains from groaning. With the stress of everything else, he’d forgotten.

“You’ll do fine, just throw some spears around- I know you're a good shot,” Reiner says.

It doesn't make him feel any better.

Since it’s the third day, the trainer doesn't bother to give her speech and lets them free the moment everyone arrives.

“Why can’t we go to the weapon stations?” Gabi asks for what must be the fifth time.

 _“Because,”_ Colt starts, exasperated. “The Careers are hogging them and I don’t want you to go near them. Besides, you can’t learn a weapon in a day.”

“You can learn the basics,” she retorts.

Colt glares at her. “No… just no.” Damn, he’s tired.

She huffs but doesn't say anything else. 

“Let’s go to the hammock building station,” Pieck interrupts, putting a hand on Gabi’s back and guiding her there. He nods at her in thanks- she just smiles.

He’s surprised Pieck joins them, she’d been hanging around the tall girl from 5 yesterday, so he sort of assumed she would today, too. After all, she shouldn't have any real loyalty towards the three of them, all that’s different about them is that they’re from the same district, and she knows Colt would choose Falco and Gabi over her no matter the circumstances.

Hammocks are unsurprisingly very time consuming to build- it takes over half an hour to make a passable one, even with all four of them. Well, three of them, really, Gabi is too busy staring at the knife rack longingly to actually be of much help.

Suddenly, she sighs, setting the ropes she’d been fiddling with down. “Can I go to the edible plants station?”

Colt eyes her suspiciously, but her face seems innocent enough.

“... Alright.”

“I’ll go with you,” Falco says immediately, moving to follow her.

“No.” She stops him. “I wanna go alone.” 

Falco’s face falls as Gabi leaves. Colt watched her to make sure she’s _actually_ going where she said she would, and he reluctantly turns back to his work when she does, in fact, start talking to the instructor in the edible plants station.

“It’s okay, Falco,” Pieck comforts, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She might just need a moment alone.”

Falco bites his lip but goes back to working on the hammock.

They finish the hammock and start another, Colt wanting to make sure that he can make one from memory. It would be a bad idea to sleep on the ground in the Games, so knowing how to make a hammock would allow them to sleep in the trees- provided there _are_ trees in the arena.

Colt becomes so absorbed that he forgets to check up on Gabi, and it’s not until Pieck looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow that he remembers.

He whips his head around, not seeing Gabi at first. But then he finally finds her and his eyes widen. 

She’s at the knife station (Colt takes a moment to be mad at her for ignoring him) and Porco is crouched next to her as she holds a dagger, pointing towards one of the dummies. He watches as she throws it- it lands handle-first and clatters to the ground, but it still _hits_ the dummy, which is nothing to laugh at.

Colt glowers and moves to get up, but Pieck tugs him back down by the arm.

“He’s not hurting her, let her learn.”

“In a few days he won’t have the same reservations,” Colt hisses, watching as another one of Gabi’s throws hit the dummy, it’s not a bullseye by any means, but it still imbeds itself in the target. “Why is he even helping her? That just makes a harder opponent for him.”

She shrugs. “Hell if I know. Maybe he felt bad for her.”

Some of the other Careers shoot them confused looks as well, obviously just as puzzled. Colt watches them closely to make sure they aren't going to try anything.

The camera crew seems to have picked up on it too. They’re buzzing around them from a distance like fruit flies to a dead animal. They’d been here since day one, drifting around the tributes and getting shots of all of them, especially the more interesting interactions. They probably want to catch any beginnings of alliances and rivalries starting to appear before the Games.

“Remind me _why_ there's a camera crew here again?” Colt asks anyway.

“It’s for the pre-Game show, I think,” Pieck says, noticing them as well. “I think they air this to get people more interested in the tributes.”

Colt lips twitch up. He doesn't like that.

Falco cranes his neck to see Gabi as she throws another throwing knife, which hits inside the target area on its chest. Porco claps her on the shoulder, grinning, and Gabi grins back before biting her lip in concentration and throwing another one.

“She’s not bad,” Falco admits.

Colt reluctantly grunts in agreement. He watches Porco take another knife off the rack and line up his shot. _Christ_ that guy has arms. Colt knows he’s taller than him, but Porco’s probably got a good twenty pounds of pure muscle on him. 

He watches him- to scope out the competition of course- and the knife hits the center of the dummy’s head, sticking straight out of its forehead.

Colt lets out a shaky breath. He doesn't want to be on the receiving end of that throw. Gabi gapes at him in poorly-concealed awe. Why the hell is she trusting him? Colt’s eyes drift to the side and it’s now that he notices that Udo and Zofia are shadowing them too, lingering at the station next to them but clearly watching.

One of the male tributes from 4 drops from the rope course, spear in hand, and approaches, eyes on Gabi. Colt narrows his eyes and shifts so he’s sitting on his feet, ready to move at a moment's notice.

“What? You trying to get some big peacekeeper to protect you?” He sneers at Gabi.

She opens her mouth to snarl something back but Porco interrupts her.

“You’re just mad that you can’t kick me out of the alliance because you know I’m a better shot than all of you combined.” He sends another knife into the target for effect. “And I’m technically not a peacekeeper- yet, anyway,” he pokes, an easy smile on his face, wholly inappropriate to the situation.

The Career curls his lip. “As if we need you-”

“Don’t you?” Porco asks innocently.

“Buzz off,” Gabi interjects, coming to stand in front of Porco and looking up at the Career in a way that would be threatening if he weren't two feet taller than her.

The Career shows his teeth and raises his spear despite the heavily enforced rule of no hurting other tributes and Colt is moving before he can even realize it.

He catches the spear before the butt of it can come down on her.

“You heard her, go away,” Colt growls, shoving the spear back into the boy’s chest. Oh fuck, why did he do that? He doesn't know where that sudden rush of fearlessness came from, but it’s leaving all too soon as the Career glares down at him like he’s something stuck to the bottom of his boot. 

“Hey! No fighting over there,” one of the trainers yell, a hand on her radio and glaring at us. The boy takes one look at her and sneers before turning back to me.

“You’d better watch out in the Arena-”

“Yeah yeah,” Porco interrupts, waving his hand dismissively. 

The Career steps towards him with a snarl, but another glare from the trainer shuts him down quickly and he turns on his heels with a huff, not unlike a large dog.

I glance at the balcony with the mentors, a few of them- including Reiner- are looking at us with varying degrees of concern and amusement, before turning to Porco, who I find to be already watching me.

I look at him for a moment, not sure what to say, before tearing my eyes away.

“Come on Gabi,” I say, turning my back towards Porco. She follows without complaint.

“Hey, wait,” Porco says, jogging to catch up with them. Colt tenses, wondering what he wants. Porco looks around, making sure no one is within hearing-distance (except the camera crew of course, but Colt does his best to ignore them).

“We should make an alliance.”

Colt pauses, turning to him in shock. That was the exact _last_ thing he expected him to say.

Porco seems to read his disbelief as disgust. “O-or not,” he backtracks, suddenly looking nervous.

“No,” Colt corrects, head reeling. “Why would you want an alliance with us of all people?” He genuinely can’t understand, he’s carrying extra weight, two _children_ are the last thing you want to look out for in the Games, and who knows how long Pieck will stick around, and there are much more capable tributes than him who would certainly be up for an alliance with a rouge Career. 

He shrugs. “You’ll need more help if you’re hoping to protect those two.”

“... and you’re _offering?”_

“Yeah.”

Colt is so confused.

“How do I know you’re not just gonna turn on us and go back to your _friends?”_ He gestures to the other Careers.

“You don’t,” Porco admits bluntly. “But if my word means anything, I swear I won’t.”

“... It doesn't,” Colt says suspiciously.

“Fair enough. Just think about it, will ya?” he says, turning and walking away.

Colt blinks. He was expecting him to be offended. His eyes drift down to Gabi and sees his own confusion mirrored in her eyes.

“We should,” she says after a moment. “I believe him.”

Colt watches him as he goes back to the knife station. He doesn't think he does.

Before long, the District 1 tributes begin to get called in for their private session with the Gamemakers where they will earn their scores.

Colt’s feet tap in nervousness. Reiner said to throw spears but what if he misses? It’s been a long time, after all. What if he gets a low number like a 3 or 4, what will he do then? That would be like putting a sign above their heads saying that he’s an easy target. 

He looks over to Gabi and Falco beside him. It doesn't matter as much for them, no one is expecting a 12 from them, but it would still be ideal for them to get over a 4 at least.

Colt sets his hands on the table, giving up on tying the knot; all he’s doing is fraying the strings.

He watches as Porco is called, leaving his seat with the rest of District 2 before disappearing through the door.

By the time the first tribute from 7 is called almost two hours have passed and Colt has long since given up focusing on learning to tie knots for human-sized traps and decided to stare at his hands, picking at his now-not-so-neatly-groomed nails.

Another hour and a half goes by before Falco is called. Colt catches his arm as he walks by.

“You’ll do great, okay? Just build some cool traps, you don’t need to get a 10.”

Falco swallows audible and nods. Colt can see the nervousness in his gate as he walks through the doorway.

Colt sighs, waiting anxiously for the next long few minutes before he’s finally called.

“Good luck!” Gabi calls after him as he makes his way into the room. 

It resembles the training room but without the stations. The equipment is all still there though.

He looks up to the Gamemakers where they’re chatting up on a large balcony above the room, a buffet set up on a long table before them. A few look up as he enters but most are more focused on their wine, predictably so, they have had to sit through forty-something tributes before him. Yet another downside to such a large number of tributes. 

Colt immediately heads towards the spears, trying to keep what little attention he has. He decides that since he has no one to spar with it would be smarter to show his throwing rather than his fighting- it was always his strong suit, anyway. 

He runs his fingers down all of them where they’re lined up in a rack, trying to find the throwing spears. They mixed the throwing and non-throwing spears together for some reason. He wonders if they just don’t know the difference or wanted to test if tributes knew. Probably the latter. 

He takes one with a serrated edge off its hooks before immediately putting it back. Too heavy. The next one he picks up he spins in his hand experimentally. The spear (more of a javelin, really) is relatively light with a simple triangle tip but feels right in his hand.

Walking to the 15-meter line he readies himself, tossing the spear around in his grip, glancing at the Gamemakers, finding about a quarter of them looking at him expectantly. This first throw _has_ to be good if he wants to keep the little attention he has garnered.

He holds it above his right shoulder about halfway down the shaft so he doesn't take his ear off and steadies it parallel to the ground. He focuses on the dummy’s head, a red target painted onto it. Once he has it aligned right he takes a few steps back, giving himself space to gain momentum and taking one long step forward pulling his arm back and _throwing_.

It goes straight through the middle of the dummy’s chest, right under where the center of the collarbone would be.

He blinks. He was aiming for the head but that works too.

He looks up at the Gamemakers: a few more are nodding in approval but most are still standing around the table laughing with each other. It's then that he notices a huge portrait of President Tyber on the wall behind them, staring down at him. How conceded is that? He tries not to glare at it.

He grabs another similar spear, the balance is off but it's the best he can find. The next throw is off by a few inches, grazing the dummy’s shoulder before falling to the floor with a loud clatter. That noise, of course, gets the Gamemakers attention, but they turn away once they see that he’d missed.

Colt huffs.

The next throw skewers the dummy through the head but the Gamemakers have already stopped paying attention.

Colt fumes. He hates these stupid games. The painting of Tyber still stares down on him mockingly.

He eyes it. He wonders if…

He goes back to the spears, grabbing one of the lighter ones with a sturdy tip. He throws it at another dummy to practice. It goes through its head. None of the Gamemakers notice that he walks up to the dummy and yanks the spear out of its face, sending stuffing flying. 

Anger arises within him and he throws without thinking. 

The spear sails past the people and the table and embeds itself into President Tyber’s forehead. 

A few startled squawks ring out and the Gamemakers turn to gape at him.

The spear still hangs in the wall, deep in the plaster behind the painting.

“Thank you for your time,” Colt says with a small, sarcastic nod, spinning on his heels and stalking out of the room.

He grimaces at himself. He’s definitely going to get a zero now.

━━┅━━━┅━━

“He wanted to _ally_ with you?” Reiner asks almost incredulously.

Colt pauses his pacing, “I know right? What does he have to gain?”

“Maybe he’s just suicidal,” Pieck offers through a mouthful of crackers. Colt glares at her. She’s not helping.

“Shh,” Hangi hushes. “The program is about to start.”

Colt reluctantly takes a seat on the couch. He’s not looking forward to seeing his score. He hadn’t told the others what he did other than that it was “fine”, so they can’t get mad at him. Besides, he's dead anyway.

He’s honestly surprised that they haven't sent someone to collect him yet so they can kill him, but maybe they’re just saving it for the games so they can stick a pack of wolves on him or something. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he’s gone and endangered Falco and Gabi.

The faces of the District 1 tributes begin to flash across the screen so he reels himself back in and makes an effort to pay attention. Unsurprisingly, almost all of the Careers get a score of 7 to 10. Porco is one of the ones who gets a 10.

Pieck hums at that. “If he was being serious, he's not a bad ally to have.”

Colt grunts but keeps his eyes on the screen. The rest of the tributes get in the 4 to 6 range, with a few outliers getting 7s and 8s and one 9 from the tall girl from 5 that Pieck was hanging around, Yelena her name is apparently. Udo and Zofia get a 4 and a 5 respectively. None get lower than a 3.

Colt tenses when 12 comes up last. Falco managed to pull a 6 and Hangi congratulates him excitedly. Colt almost shuts his eyes when his face flashes up but keeps them open as to not delay the inevitable 0. A 10 flashes across the screen.

Hangi squeals in excitement and even Reiner pats him on the back. Colt gapes. Gabi and Pieck both get 7s, a solid score, and even the announcers after the scores are shown look mildly surprised at his 10.

“What did you do?” Gabi asks. The others look at him expectantly.

“I- uh,” Colt wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, swallowing. “I threw a spear at the Gamemakers.” He doesn't add that it was at a portrait of Tyber, that would probably be pushing it.

Hangi gasps and Reiner’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“Well that's one way to do it,” Pieck snorts.

━━┅━━━┅━━

“Perfect,” Historia says, straightening his collar. He looks in the mirror; this time he’s dressed in a white suit with a black trim and boots, with the same silver and black eyeliner, just less prominent. 

At least it's not as flashy as the costumes.

Historia looks at him with suddenly pink and teary eyes and throws her arms around his neck, hugging him. He freezes, surprised, before awkwardly patting her on the back.

She lets go, sniffing. “Sorry- I just, this might be the last time I see you.”

Colt wants to remind her that they’ve barely known each other for four days but ultimately decides against it.

They join the others backstage, Ymir is already scolding Gabi for messing up her makeup.

The other tributes are hanging around in groups with their mentors, preparing to go on stage for their interviews. This year, because there are so many tributes, two tributes will go up for their interviews at once to make the length more bearable. They did add a minute to their time though, instead of the usual three minutes they get four, to make up for it.

Colt studies the other tributes in greater detail now that he knows their scores and more of their names. There’s Yelena from 5 who looks like she could step over him with ease, the girl from 9, Hitch if he remembers correctly, who has wormed her way into the Career pack, and of course, Udo and Zofia, Udo looking a step away from passing out and Zofia seemingly indifferent. 

Colt goes to run a hand through his hair but Historia slaps it away. “Don’t mess it up, you can’t go up there looking like your stylists don’t care.”

Someone pushes open a door on the far wall, instructing the Mentors and Stylists to take their seats in the audience.

Reiner sighs, standing up straight from where he was crouched, having a hushed conversation with Falco and Gabi.

“You’ll do great out there,” he says to the four of them. “Don’t be passive, you need to be memorable. Despite what most people think, the Games aren't fair. If you fade into the background you are much more likely to be killed off randomly by the Gamemakers to make room for the more interesting tributes.” Colt nods, he already knew that. “You guys are lucky, you have a lot of attention on you because of your dramatic Reaping.” Colt pauses at that. They do? “All you need to do is keep the attention.” 

Reiner looks like he wants to say more but they’re ushered out of the room before he can, so he just spares them a parting smile, not quite reaching his eyes. He looks worried.

As Annie passes, she leans in to whisper to Colt. “Show them you care. Someone who has something to fight for is always stronger than someone who gives up. They expect you to play their game, so play it, but don’t be a pawn.”

Colt furrows his eyebrows but she continues walking like she hadn’t said anything, falling in a few steps behind Reiner. 

Suddenly, the lights flash on the stage and he doesn’t have time to mull over it when the anxious feeling comes back with vengeance. He and Falco come on dead-last, which makes it that much harder to get the audience to care about them when they’re surely bored from watching forty-six tributes and twenty-three other interviews before them.

He looks at the small television hanging from the ceiling, showing the stage. The host for as long as he can remember, Onyankopon, strides on stage, waving at the audience and smiling brightly.

Soon enough, the two girls from 1 are called up and they prance to their seats, both in tight, almost see-through dresses. They obviously know the look they’re going for, one is glaring daggers at the audience and the other, a short girl with choppy reddish-brown hair, is laughing bubbly with Onyankopon.

He asks them both questions and Colt tunes them out as one of them starts boasting about their skills with a sword.

Colt watches curiously as the boys from 2 are called, Porco and the other guy with a bowl-cut settle on the couch as far away from each other as they can be without being obvious. 

Onyankopon recites the usual greetings before diving into the actual questions. He turns to the bowl-cut kid.

“So, Marlowe, you volunteered.”

Marlow nods. “Correct. I want to bring honor to my district and show everyone what a _real_ District 2 tribute should be.” He sends a not-so-discreet glance at Porco.

“Oh, I like the confidence,” Onyankopon says, the audience letting out an ‘ooo’.

“And you, Porco, how do you feel about being chosen only a few years after your brother volunteered for you?”

Colt blinks. He didn't know that. 

If the question upsets Porco he doesn’t let it show. “I’m ready to honor him by winning the Games,” he says, posture totally relaxed as he lounges on the couch as if he were in his own living room.

“And what was on your mind the moment your name was called for a second time in your life, knowing no one could volunteer for you this time?”

Porco shrugs. “I wasn't too worried. I know I can win- my brother taught me all he knew, after all.” There's a slightly bitter edge to that statement, directed at the audience. No one else seems to pick up on it.

“Now, I can’t help but notice that you decided to back out of the alliance with the other tributes from 1, 2, and 4,” he comments. Capitol people will go out of their way to avoid calling them the Career pack.

Huh. That still doesn't explain why he wanted to ally with them, he'd surely be better off on his own with those knife-throwing skills of his.

Porco just smiles- and the audience eats it up. “I don’t need to rely on them when I have myself. Besides,” he grins, looking straight at Marlowe. “We all know how fast those kinds of alliances can fall apart.” Marlowe just humphs. 

Colt stops paying attention as the interview is directed back to Marlowe and before long their four minutes are up.

The others pass quickly and when it’s 5’s turn, he notices that half the audience loves Zofia’s weird jokes that may not actually be jokes, and the other half is weirded out by her. Yelena mentions something about an alliance without saying any names and Colt turns to Pieck, remembering them hanging out.

“Is that you?”

Pieck just shrugs.

Soon enough it’s Pieck and Gabi’s turn to go up. Pieck’s loose dress flows behind her as she climbs the stairs and Gabi almost stumbles over it much to her apparent embarrassment. The audience seems to find it endearing though, not quite as asleep as Colt expected. 

Pieck curls up on the corner of the sofa like a cat, pulling her legs up under her, giving an air of easy confidence.

Gabi, however, sits ramrod-straight, looking a bit jittery. After the first few questions though, she seems to calm down, and soon she has the audience laughing.

“So, Gabi Braun, I think it’s safe to assume you’re related to Reiner Braun?” Onyankopon says even though he obviously already knows the answer.

“Mhm,” Gabi confirms, kicking her feet from under her red dress.

“So do you think you’ll be the second victor in the family? You seemed pretty eager to volunteer.” The audience hushes, awaiting her answer.

To Colt’s surprise, and dawning horror, she shakes her head. “No.” Onyankopon’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and the audience murmurs. Pieck shifts, her eyebrows wrinkling.

“No?” he questions.

“No,” she says resolutely. “I’m going to make sure Falco and Colt are the Victors. That's what I came here to do.”

Colt groans internally. He should have expected this. He should’ve known she’d have to make things more difficult.

“The two other District 12 tributes?” Onyankopon clarifies, leaning forward, intrigued.

“Yeah. I can’t let Falco die and he’d be sad without his brother,” she shrugs as if that were a valid reason. “So I’ll save them.”

The audience cheers for her. 

The buzzer signaling the end of their interview interrupts whatever Onyankopon was going to say next and the crowd cheers as they walk off the stage.

Colt gathers himself, it’s his and Falco’s turn now, and Gabi just made his job that much harder.

He stands behind the curtain with Falco until a member of the backstage crew signals them to walk out so they do. Plastering a smile onto his face he greets Onyankopon as he sits on the soft couch, Falco sitting close beside him. The lights of the stage hurt his eyes but also bleach out most of the audience, which would make it a little easier to focus if he wasn't painfully aware of all of Eldia’s eyes on him.

“So Colt,” Onyankopon starts, earrings jangling as he leans forward. “I’ll cut to the chase. After Gabi’s _interesting_ interview, do you have anything to add to her statement?”

“Well,” Colt starts, surprised he’s leading with this, forcing lightness into his tone. “All I have to say is that I promised Reiner that I’ll get her out of the Arena alive- and that's what I’m planning to do.”

“Even if Gabi says otherwise?” Onyankopon asks playfully.

Colt grits his teeth but keeps smiling. “Even if,” he confirms.

Onyankopon sits back, folding his hands in his lap. “So Reiner, eh? I heard you two lived with him in the Victors village.”

Colt nods. “After our parents died a few years ago-” he puts a hand on Falco’s shoulder. “- Gabi convinced him to take us in since our families are old friends.”

Onyankopon’s eyes twinkle under his colored contact lenses. “Did that little taste of luxury in the Victors village make you want a house there of your own?”

Does he seriously think he’d volunteer to be put in an Arena to fight to the death for something as vain as that? He wants to just stand up and tell them that they’re all monsters, but he's not brave enough for that so he just pushes that urge down and chuckles. 

“No,” he sighs almost wistfully. “After Falco got chosen my plan was to team up with him and both win. But now with Gabi here…” he shrugs almost flippantly. “My plans had to change. But I can assure you I won’t let _anyone_ touch them.”

God, he hopes he’s playing this right.

“Is that a threat to the other tributes?”

Colt shrugs again. “It's whatever it needs to be.” He’s pulling this confidence out of his ass. Hopefully it’s enough.

Onyankopon hums thoughtfully. “May I ask how you earned that training score of 10? That surprised quite a lot of us.”

Colt pretends to consider the question before shaking his head. “I think you’ll have to wait for the games for that.”

The crowd ‘oohs’ and Onyankopon lets out a hearty laugh. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Colt looks at the timer above the stage, their interview is barely halfway over.

“So Falco, it seems like you’ve got your own personal bodyguards,” Onyankopon says, grinning. “What did you do to get them so wrapped around your finger?”

Falco blushes under the attention and shrugs. “I don’t know, but they’ve always been there for me.”

The audience lets out an _aww_ and Onyankopon clutches his chest like his heart is going to explode.

“Falco, we’re dying to know, what's your favorite thing about the Capitol?”

Colt barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He doesn't think they really need another ego boost.

Falco lets the question hang in the air for a moment as he pretends to have an internal debate as if there are so many things he likes that he can’t choose one, even though Annie already scripted an answer for this question for them. 

“I love all the _colors_ here,” Falco finally says with a grin. He’s getting better at acting. “And the _people,_ they're all so nice!”

The audience just laps that up, fawning over him.

After a couple more questions directed at Falco, the buzzer finally goes off and Colt feels like he can breathe again.

━━┅━━━┅━━

He was never able to follow up with Porco, so he’s going to assume that the offer doesn’t stand anymore. He coughs into his elbow and downs the rest of his water. He’d quickly come to regret it if he doesn't.

He tries to force down some food, knowing that it’s not guaranteed he’ll be able to find anything to eat in the games, but his stomach rolls uncomfortably with every bite so he gives up. He doubts he’d be able to hold much down, anyway. 

He knocks his feet together, not used to wearing such thick boots. It’s hard to tell what the climate in the Arena will be like based on the gear they gave them because it seems suited for everything. Clunky waterproof boots that lace up past his ankles (he’s tested them out, despite the foreign weight they’re flexible and fit perfectly), cargo pants with millions of pockets (that feel semi-waterproof), a regular black shirt, a thin but sturdy fleece jacket and a navy windbreaker on top

The only thing he can guess is that it won’t be super hot or mostly water, which is a relief at least. He’s not a great swimmer. It is the 100th Hunger Games though, who knows what they have planned.

He rubs his hand over the small bump under his skin where they injected the tracker. It still aches.

Nothing feels real. It was just as hard to drag himself out of bed this morning as it always is, but a blurry haze has hung around his head since then. He’d said his goodbyes to Falco and Gabi, and a final goodbye to Pieck who he has the feeling he might not ever see again. They have a tentative sort of alliance, that they won't kill each other but won’t help each other, which is how he prefers it.

“Colt,” Reiner says as he opens the door, gaining his attention. Colt stands up from the couch, coming to meet him in the room. He must be done talking with Gabi.

He fiddles with a small chain bracelet in his hand. “I want you to have this as your token. It was mine for my games.”

He hands it to Colt and he studies it. It’s plain and silver except for a small pendant in the middle of what looks to be a cross between a maple leaf and a star with a few extra points.

“Thank you,” he says, swallowing heavily. His eyes are suddenly wet. He loops the bracelet tight around his wrist, pushing it under his sleeve.

Gabi took one of the red ribbons that he braided her hair with as her token and gave one to Falco, he knows they’re wearing it tied around their wrists.

Reiner sighs and stares at the floor, picking at a string on his cuff. “Remember, avoid the bloodbath and run away unless you see something close and have no dangerous tributes around you. I told Gabi and Falco to immediately run the opposite direction, hopefully they listen. I think we’ll be able to scrape up some sponsors, you guys are a Capitol favorite.”

Colt nods wordlessly, biting his lip. He holds out his hand. “It’s been nice knowing you, Reiner. Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

Tears swim in Reiner’s eyes as he bypasses his hand and pulls him in for a hug. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I promise I’ll take care of Falco.”

Then it's time to step into the launch tube.

He can do this. He promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will carry this ship on my shoulders, don't try me.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, until next time!


	4. The Bloodbath

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Hundredth annual Hunger Games begin!”_

Colt squints against the sudden sunlight as the platform rises into the arena, the scent of _forest_ and _grass_ hitting him immediately. 

He blinks the spots out of his vision and darts his eyes around to take in the Arena. They sit in a valley between rolling green hills, the cornucopia resting in the middle. It looks a little bigger than normal, probably to accommodate the larger amount of tributes.

He cranes his neck to see beyond the hills; he can barely make out the beginnings of a forest opposite him, but can’t tell what's behind him.

He frantically scans the other tributes for Falco and Gabi. A girl from 3 and a boy from 7 are next to him, about twenty feet away on their own platforms, and he spots Pieck about five people down the line but he still can’t find Falco or Gabi. The timer on top of the cornucopia counts down, a gong playing each passing second, taunting him. 

Finally, he finds Gabi far down the circle, almost opposite him. If she were two more people down she would be blocked by the cornucopia as he assumes Falco is. He trusts them to get themselves out of danger, he’ll skirt the edges of the hill and join them.

These sixty seconds feel simultaneously like the longest and shortest of his life.

His chest is heaving with anxious breaths as the timer strikes ten, and he remembers to look around for nearby backpacks or weapons. There are tons in the cornucopia, piled high (including a spear that looks like it was _made_ for him- maybe it was), but some items are scattered around the edges, getting less valuable the further away from the cornucopia they are.

He narrows in on a backpack and a hunter's knife sitting maybe forty feet to his left, two-thirds of the way to the platforms, the same direction he needs to run to get to Falco and Gabi. The tribute closest to it is from 4 so Colt wouldn't be surprised if he bypasses it completely and goes straight for the cornucopia.

Colt’s breath hitches as the final gong sounds off and he shuffles his feet for a moment, suddenly frozen. A precious second is wasted, but then his brain catches up with him and he leaps off the platform, tearing down the grass towards the backpack, keeping himself behind the other sprinting tributes, most going straight for the cornucopia but some turn to climb the hills as hopefully Gabi and Falco are doing.

As he thought, the Career left the bag there and must not have seen the knife so he grabs them both and slings the pack over his shoulder without slowing- it’s pretty light, there must not be much in it.

The fastest tributes have reached the cornucopia by now and a shrill scream permutes the air before choking off. First person down. 

He frantically seeks out Falco and he spots him a quarter of the way up the hill shouting at something, and relief floods through him before he realizes that he can’t see Gabi any longer and the _thing_ he's yelling at must be her, but he can’t be sure because the cornucopia is blocking him.

Colt curses and pivots to sprint across the field, coming dangerously close to the cornucopia where blood is spraying. 

As he turns behind the cornucopia, he runs full-speed into someone and they both go tumbling painfully to the grass. All he knows is that whoever he ran into is _solid._

He scrambles to his feet, heart threatening to beat out of his chest, coming face-to-face with a startled-looking Porco who is holding a bloodied knife.

They stare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Cold briefly wonders if he’s going to kill him.

Suddenly a girl falls at their feet, blood gurgling up from her throat and snaps them out of it. Colt runs past him without looking back. He knows Porco could easily send the knife flying into his neck, but he has the feeling that if he was going to kill him he would have done it already.

He looks around, having lost track of Falco and Gabi before spotting them again.

_Fucking hell, Gabi._

Gabi is grappling for a backpack with a small girl from 11, both weaponless. Even through the ringing in his ears, Colt can hear that, up on the hill, Falco is telling her to just leave it and go.

Colt sees Gabi triumphantly yank the bag from the other girl's hand, but about ten steps behind them, he finds a Career girl’s eyes locked on them with a machete in her hand, obviously going for what she sees as an easy kill.

Colt halts in his steps, almost tripping forward as he decides what to do. The rest of the Career pack is still slaughtering the braver tributes inside the cornucopia, not paying him any attention, and Porco is nowhere to be found. But the Career girl is still stalking forward and, as he watches, she lunges forward as fast as a snake and swings the machete into the 11 girl’s side, who screams and falls back in pain.

Colt starts running again. Before the Career can even think about turning to Gabi, he sinks his knife into her shoulder.

“Go!” he orders Gabi, who is staring at him with wide eyes, blood splattered on her face.

The girl bucks under his knife so he yanks it out with a spray of bright red blood. She collapses to the ground with a cry, clutching her shoulder.

“Hey!”

He turns; the other Careers have noticed him, two of them have started to run towards him with their weapons raised.

“Go! I’ll catch up with you,” he says, shoving Gabi away. She seems to regain her scenes and nods and grabs the backpack, running down the grass towards Falco.

Colt turns and takes off towards the hill to his left, the Careers not far behind him. At least they bypass Gabi and go after him. They must be angry that he had the gall to hurt one of their own. Small miracles, he supposes. 

He slows significantly as he rushes up the hill, it’s much steeper than it looks and the grass is slippery underfoot. When he reaches the top his legs are burning and he’s panting- not a good sign so early in the Games.

He turns to look behind him, the two Careers are still chasing him, only about halfway up the hill. Don’t they have better prey to chase?

Colt continues fleeing, taking in the landscape. To his right he sees Gabi and Falco disappear into a forest of frankly ridiculously tall trees. Someone follows not far behind them, which worries him. He hopes they can take care of it themselves as he can’t help them with these two brutes at his back. 

The forest sprawls in front of him too, but maybe a quarter-mile to his left it borders what looks to be a dusty grey wasteland that he sees a few tributes run into. He doesn't get a good look at what's behind him.

He darts into the trees. The branches are so high up that it doesn't give him much cover, but the sheer density of the trees will hopefully hide him once he puts enough distance between himself and the Careers.

He tramples leaves and ferns underfoot as he sprints, dodging the trunks, his breath starting to become harder to catch. 

After what has to be ten minutes of panic-infused running, he slips on a dead leaf and falls over a short ledge that was hidden by the undergrowth.

“Oof,” he grunts as he hits the ground, narrowly avoiding falling on his knife. That would have been embarrassing. He grimaces and lifts his head, realizing that there's a small hollow in the ground under the ledge and he tucks himself in it.

After a few moments of silence with no sign of approaching footsteps, he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and decides to rest there for a minute to make sure he’s really shaken off the Careers before searching for Falco and Gabi. The adrenaline is quickly wearing off and being replaced with exhaustion and pure, unadulterated, terror. 

He startles when a series of cannons boom out, reverberating through the arena, signaling each death and the end of the initial bloodbath. He counts nineteen shots. Twenty-nine tributes left. Quite a large number to die in the first twenty or so minutes, but that's to be expected in such a big Games. He just hopes that none of those were for Gabi or Falco.

He curls his lips and kicks the loose dirt. Not even five minutes into the Games and he lost them. How pathetic.

It's now that he realizes that he lost his knife during the tumble and he finds it a few feet from his boots, the blood that still stains it collecting dirt. He feels nauseous as he realizes that the girl’s blood is crusted on the front of his windbreaker. He wipes it off as best he can before wiping his hand and the knife on the wet grass to clean them.

Once he’s satisfied, he slings the backpack off his back and into his lap, deciding he should check his spoils. He tries not to get his hopes up, it could very well be next to useless.

He finds a silver thermal blanket and an insulated water bottle with a small container of iodine tablets- more than he could have asked for. So far from the cornucopia he expected it to be close to empty. Now the only thing he needs to worry about is food.

He doesn't have any wires to make traps, but maybe there were some in Gabi’s backpack. He can make do with what he can scavenge until he finds them, then.

After a few more minutes with no sign of his pursuers, he peeks his head over the ledge, seeing nothing but a few bugs on the ground. He stands, heart rate finally down to a bearable level, and straps the backpack back on, tucking the knife in his waistband in such a way that it won’t stab him as he walks, and sets off in the direction Falco and Gabi should be.

━━┅━━━┅━━

He hasn't come by any water by the time evening hits the artificial sky and he’s starting to become light-headed from thirst, and his parched throat is only making his cough worse. 

He’s been walking at a steady pace for hours, heading deeper into the forest in the general direction Gabi and Falco went, but they must have been moving faster than he thought because he hasn't found any sign of them, at least, not that he knows of.

He’s not bad at tracking, he’s come across trails in the underbrush left behind by lone tributes and one group of three, but none that signaled two people traveling together.

He pauses under a tree, squinting up at the branches. They are much too high up for him to climb. Guess he won't be sleeping in the trees. He doesn't want to stop anyway, he wants to find Falco and Gabi as soon as possible, and even more immediately, a source of water. If he doesn't get water in him by morning he'll be severely impaired.

So he decides to keep trekking onwards.

Another cannon blows as darkness falls over the sky and Colt flinches, imagining that it's for Falco.

Eventually, he stumbles into a small clearing with a large pool of clear, freshwater sitting in the middle. He knows that you're not supposed to drink stagnant water, but right now he’s too thirsty to care- besides, the iodine tablets should take care of it.

He drops to his knees in relief and uncapped his water bottle and fills it to the brim, dropping an iodine tablet in and anxiously waiting for it to dissolve. After the longest thirty seconds of his life, he swishes it around a little before taking a few, long swallows of the cold water. It soothes his dry throat as it goes down and he suddenly feels much better. One problem dealt with.

He takes the opportunity to properly wash off his hands and splashes water into his face and the back of his neck to clean him of the mixture of dried sweat and dirt.

He sighs and sits back. His legs are going to be sore tomorrow. 

As the Arena grows darker he tops off his water and reluctantly stands, planning to look for a hollow or cave to take shelter in before it gets so dark that he can’t see. Already the trees are casting heavy shadows and the small amount of moonlight that peeks in doesn't do much in the way of lighting. 

He freezes, breath stilling when he sees something glint in the corner of his eye. 

Slowly turning to face it, his stomach takes a nosedive to his feet. Those are certainly a pair of yellow eyes flashing in the moonlight. His hand hovers over his knife, ready to grab it at a moment's notice.

He projects his movements as he steps back, remembering that you shouldn't run away from big cats- though he has the feeling that Capitol mutts don’t follow the same rule.

Sure enough, the eyes blink out of existence and it snarls and leaps at him. Colt dives out of the way, barely keeping is footing and sprinting back into the trees.

It’s breathing is loud as it chases him and he can hear it’s razor-sharp claws rip the bark from the trees as it uses them to launch itself forward.

It must have gotten darker in the past minute because now it's only a step away from pitch black. He can barely make out the shapes of trees seconds before he crashes into them, and he can’t tell at all where he’s putting his feet, he very well could be about to run straight off a cliff (though the Capitol is certainly getting a nice night-vision enhanced view of his peril).

Suddenly, his foot catches on an exposed root and his ankle twists painfully, sending him crashing to the ground. He barely has time to roll himself onto his back before the beast is on him.

It’s huge teeth flash in the moonlight and he wedges his arm into its jowls right before it snaps down on his exposed throat. He fumbles for his knife, cursing when it kicks it out of his hand, sending it flying into the ferns.

Is this how he dies? Being torn apart by some animal during the first night of the Games? Hopefully, the Capitol gets a good laugh out of that one.

Colt flinches as the thing growls and gnaws on his arm, shaking its head, teeth sink deeper into his flesh, cutting past the fabric of his jackets. He pushes against it’s chest with his free hand, kneeing and kicking at it to no avail.

His back slides against the ground as it locks down on his arm and shakes its head again like it would to break an animal’s neck, making him hiss out a breath through gritted teeth as it tears through his skin. Its fangs put enormous pressure on his forearm as it bites down harder.

Then he feels the vibration of running footsteps and there’s a sick, wet sound of a knife entering its skull. 

It yowls and thrashes before going limp with a final, rasping breath and a twitch of its paws. 

He gasps as the pressure relents and he carefully pries its jaw open to extract his bloodied arm.

Even in the low light he can tell that it’s Porco standing over him, pulling his knife out of the tiger-thing’s head.

He stares at him in shock for a moment, still under the heavy animal. “Thanks,” he blurts.

Porco looks down at him in surprise. “No problem.”

He then remembers that he should probably get rid of the dead weight crushing him and he wiggles out from under it’s much heavier body.

“Colt!”

Colt grunts, surprised when Falco collides with his chest and wraps his arms around his neck. “You're okay! I was so worried.”

“Oh- yeah,” he stutters out, overwhelmed. Now that the immediate danger is gone he can feel a throbbing pain in his arm and a sharp ache in his ankle.

“Porco helped us,” Gabi butts in- apparently she’s here too. Guess all he needed to do to find them was get attacked. If he’d know that he would’ve done it ages ago.

“How’d you find me?” Colt asks when Falco releases him.

“We heard a ruckus in the forest,” Gabi says. “It turned out to be you.”

Colt eyes Porco as he tucks the knife into its sheath on his belt next to a few other ones. He notices.

“Allies?” Porco asks.

Colt pushes himself to his feet, keeping his weight off of his ankle. Well, he’d be dead if it wasn’t for him- and he apparently helped Falco and Gabi. Guess the offer still stands after all. “...Alright. Allies.”

“You better be, because he has all my stuff,” Gabi says, reaching into the underbrush and handing his knife back to him. He mutters a thanks.

“I think the Gamemakers were trying to lead you to us,” Porco comments, kicking the tiger-thing’s body.

“Could've been nicer about it,” Colt grumbles. 

Porco snorts. “Come on, we made camp not far from here.”

Colt grimaces as he takes a step forward. His ankle hurts like a bitch.

“Are you okay?” Falco asks worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Colt says, deciding to suck it up. He can’t afford to show that he's injured, especially not on the first night of the games. Fuck, he’s already at a disadvantage.

While he walks back with them he tries to hide his limp, even if each step sends pain shooting up his leg. His ankle is definitely sprained.

It only takes a few minutes to get to their makeshift camp, but it’s enough time for the adrenaline to wear off and the pain in his arm to hit him full-force.

Their camp is a small cave next to a weak, trickling river that’s small enough to step over but deep enough to drink from.

“We got wires for traps,” Falco says, holding them up to show him. “We can set them tomorrow.”

“Oh, good.” It’s a little brighter here in the break between the trees- he can actually see in front of him now. As soon as he judges that he won’t look weak for doing so, he sits on a rock outside of the cave and rests his bad leg on his knee to give it a break.

He examines his arm in the moonlight. It’s not as bad as it could have been, it tore clean through his windbreaker but the fleece jacket survived with only a few punctures. 

He carefully rolls the sleeves up to his elbow; somehow his arm looks worse than his jacket, there's a line of teeth marks on the bottom that must have torn into each other when it shook its head. It’s still sluggishly bleeding. The top of his arm got away with only a few scratches- it will probably bruise more than anything. 

Porco winces sympathetically. “I managed to snag a first aid kit, I’ll see what it’s got. That looks like it might need stitches.”

Great. He loves stitches. He reluctantly stands as Porco ducks into the cave to get the first aid kit and hobbles the two steps needed to get to the little river. He slowly dips his arm into the water to clean it of any debris that got in it, wincing as the cold hits his sensitive flesh.

As he gently washes his arm of blood and tiger saliva, the anthem starts to play and the Capitol seal is projected onto the sky above. Porco peeks his head out to see the faces of the twenty dead tributes flash across the sky. Two of the Career pack were killed, the girl Colt stabbed being one of them. They must have decided to put her out of her misery. Most of the casualties are from the outer districts. All four of District 6’s tributes are dead. Districts 12 and 1 are the only two who remain unscathed and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. On one hand he’s happy Pieck survived, but on the other, if she were dead already he wouldn't need to worry about her anymore, as bad as that sounds. 

“Twenty-eight left,” Porco mutters, opening the first aid kit and examining its contents.

Colt shakes his arm free of the water and leans over to see, sitting back onto his rock. “Woah, that's got everything.” It's a fairly big but skinny plastic box with bandages, plasters of varying sizes and shapes, a cold pack, some tubes of medicine, and yes, needles and thread.

“Not surprising, I got it from the middle of the cornucopia.”

Colt regards him in surprise before looking back at his feet. “Why did you back out of the Career pack?” he asks hesitantly, genuinely curious. He can’t fathom why he’d want to, if you survive the bloodbath that's almost a guaranteed ticket into the top five.

Porco doesn't look at him, just holds up a little bottle in the dim light, squinting at the label. He shrugs. “I couldn't stand the thought of hunting down tributes for sport like they do. I’m not gonna indulge in the games like that.” He brings the bottle down, gesturing for Colt to give him an arm. “Besides, I wouldn't want to have to watch my back 24/7 anyway- watch out, this is gonna sting a little.”

Before Colt can process that he said he _doesn't_ feel the need to watch his back around them, he pours some of the cool liquid on his arm. He's right. But it stings more than a little. Whatever it is burns like crazy and Colt has to bite his lip to avoid cursing.

“There, that should keep it from getting infected,” he says, screwing the cap back on it and placing it back in the bag.

Apparently bored of doing whatever it is that she and Falco were messing with, Gabi walks over and peers at Colt's arm before scrunching up her nose.

“Ew, I don’t wanna see that.”

“Then why are you looking?” Porco asks.

She sniffs. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Is it gonna need stitches?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Porco says, looking at his arm closer. Colt feels a bit like meat on display at a butcher’s shop. 

The kids already seem to trust Porco, especially if Gabi is already having actual conversations with him and basically ignores Colt.

She turns up her nose again. “Gross,” she comments, spinning on her heels and walking back to Falco.

“Hey, stay close,” Colt warns, not liking how close they are to the treeline.

“It should be okay,” Porco assures, picking a needle and thread out of the kit. “It’s the first night so everyone will still be getting their bearings- and this seems like a pretty big arena so it's not likely someone would come across us anyway.”

“Yeah, but who knows what _they_ might throw at us,” Colt counters, nodding up towards the sky, at the Gamemakers.

Porco nods, tilting his head. “That's true.” He turns to Gabi and Falco. “Why don’t you come here and sort out your packs- make sure each of you have food and weapons on you.”

Gabi huffs but complies, ducking I tot eh cave, followed more slowly by Falco who shoots him a worried look.

“Thanks,” Colt says begrudgingly. 

Porco just nods again and fiddles with the needle. “Do you want to stitch it up yourself or do you want me to? I've done it plenty of times.”

“I- uh, don’t know how to,” Colt admits. He’s never needed to do it. He saw Bertholdt stitch Gabi's knee up once a couple of years ago but that's it. 

“I’ll do it then. Brace yourself.”

Colt tries to keep his face blank but a grimace contorts his features against his will. It feels like getting a _really_ deep paper cut when the thread moves under his flesh. It’s… less than pleasant.

He’s still confused about why Porco is helping him. He hasn't exactly done stunningly so far, getting gnawed on and spraining his ankle before the first night of the games even begins isn't exactly impressive.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” he decides to ask instead.

“Peacekeeper training,” Porco says easily as he expertly stitches the wound closed, tugging at his skin. “Lots of cuts there.”

 _Worth the advantage it gives you in the games, I bet,_ Colt thinks but decides to keep silent.

Soon, Porco finishes the stitches and cuts the end with a pair of medical scissors. Colt runs a light hand over them- surprisingly the wound actually hurts less now. He gently rolls the sleeves down, making sure the fleece doesn’t catch.

“What else did you get from the cornucopia?” Colt asks, peeking back into the cave. It looks like there's more in there but it’s too dark to see.

“As much as I could carry,” he says, flicking the needle onto the ground and kicking dirt over it. “I got two backpacks so I gave one to Falco- Gabi’s was empty except for some dried apples, but the other ones had the wire Falco showed you, a few fruits and dried food, a sleeping bag, and a water bottle- but no purifier so we’ll have to be careful.”

“Oh, I’ve got some iodine tablets.”

He raises a brow. “Well that's perfect then, pretty much the only thing we were missing.” He stands and gestures into the cave. “And I- uh, picked up a spear because I saw you eyeing them during training.”

Colt blinks. “I was?”

“Yeah. I assumed they’re what you used to get your 10.”

He really planned this out.

“Well, you're not wrong.”

Despite his ankle’s protests, he ducks into the cave, finding that it gets tall enough to stand up straight on the inside. Falco is organizing his pack on a small ledge in the corner while Gabi picks dirt off of the stone wall with a small knife.

Colt sees the throwing spear leaning against the wall and grabs it. He weighs it experimentally in his hand; It’s the same type as the one he threw at the Gamemakers. Definitely made for him.

“Is your leg okay?”

Apparently he wasn’t being as discreet with his favoring as he thought. “Yeah, it’ll be fine by morning,” he lies- at this rate it’s definitely not going to be. Placing the spear back against the wall, he turns to see Porco looking rather unimpressed.

“Yeah, sure,” he deadpans. “Need an ice pack? There was one in the kit.”

“It's fine-”

“Do you want to protect those two or not? Because you won’t be much help to them if you can’t walk,” Porco snaps. 

Colt recoils in surprise. “... alright, yeah,” he mutters, looking at the floor.

Porco sniffs and digs around in the kit while Colt comes to sit with his back against the wall, tugging his boot off with a wince.

“Here.” Colt catches the cold pack he tosses him, squeezing it and breaking the seals.

He rolls down his sock to see his ankle- it’s a little swollen but not too bruised. He pokes at it; there's definitely nothing broken. He rolls the sock back up, pressing the now icy cold pack to it and barely holding back a sigh of relief. 

He watches Porco in silence as he goes back outside and pulls a fallen tree branch over the cave opening. It doesn't shield them from view completely but it's better than nothing.

“Why are you helping us?” Colt blurts, unable to leave the question unanswered any longer. “We’re not exactly the best allies- spraining my ankle and needing stitches on the first day isn't great on my part, and they’re _twelve_ for God’s sake,” he says, gesturing to the two kids, “and as good as Gabi thinks she is, she’s no match for half the tributes here.” 

He decides to ignore Gabi’s “ _I can hear you, ya know.”_

Porco looks at him in surprise. “I guess…” he searches for the words. “I respect what you're doing, when you volunteered, I mean. That took some guts… and I don’t want innocent kids like them to die, either.”

That doesn’t seem like a full answer. Colt remembers what Onyankopon said about his brother- that must have something to do with it.

Colt nods slowly, accepting it. He decides not to pry- it’s really none of his business and he doubts he would appreciate him bringing it up.

Porco lets out a soft sigh and Colt watches as he unrolls the sleeping bag and sets it at the end of the small cave, turning to Gabi and Falco.

“You two can share that tonight.”

Falco blushes a little and Gabi scrunches up her nose but Porco stops her before she can interrupt. “You two both fit so share it- it’s either that or nothing at all.”

Gabi reluctantly seems to accept this.

“Anyway,” Porco says, turning back to him. “It’s getting late, do you want to be first watch or should I be?”

Colt appreciates that he’s giving him a choice, he knows that he doesn't fully trust him yet- not that he should, this is the Hunger Games after all- but he is surprised that Porco would let his guard down around him so soon, it's a lot to trust someone to watch their back while they sleep.

“I’ll be first if that's alright- I’ll wake you up an hour or so after midnight.”

“Sounds good,” Porco says, settling down on the cold floor, knife still in his hand.

“Wait,” Colt remembers, pulling the emergency thermal blanket from his backpack and tossing it to Porco.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, slowly unfolding it from the small square it’s packaged in.

“Mhm,” Colt hums, fixing his eyes outside, already starting to feel the chill of the night air.

This is going to be a long watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this time, sorry. Updates might start coming a bit slower from here on out, most of my attention is going towards my other fic, but I promise there WILL be updates.
> 
> Anyway, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and give me life, until next time!


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